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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886316">Possession of the Heart: Book One</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutplums/pseuds/coconutplums'>coconutplums</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Possession of the Heart [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventure &amp; Romance, Angst, Blood and Gore, Curses, Dark, Death, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Ghosts, Psychological Torture, Supernatural Elements, Torture, Tragic Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 12:47:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>58,922</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886316</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutplums/pseuds/coconutplums</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman learns the difference between the isolation of possession and the freedom of love. </p><p>Starts pre- COTBP and works through each movie.<br/>BarbossaxOC JackxOC NorringtonxOTHEROC?? ElizabethxWill</p><p> Chapter One- Rewritten<br/>Actively Rewriting Chapters Two (near done with Chapter Two) through Five (Maybe six?)<br/>Chapter Eleven Update- Delayed because of a funeral. I will post a date when I progress on the chapter.<br/></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elizabeth Swann/Will Turner, Hector Barbossa/Original Female Character(s), Jack Sparrow/Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Possession of the Heart [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2189112</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Isolated</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A/N: I am writing simply for the joy of it. I would love some feedback if you have some time. Thanks for reading!</p><p>DISCLAIMER: I do not own any characters or plots from the POTC-verse. Any original storylines and characters are of my own creation.<br/>I also do not own any images I use in the work. They are pieces I looked into for inspiration.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is my THIRD rewrite/edit of chapter one.</p><p>I'd like to explain a bit of our premise here. We are starting far before COTBP takes place-- in fact it's my intention to bring Barbossa in around his early-mid thirties. This is right around the time that he slowly transitioned to piracy in his backstory. I'd like to venture into his time at sea before piracy and maybe give some fan insight as to why he chose to follow that path. This means his personality will be generally the same, just not as harsh right away. He will also look rather different in the beginning.<br/>In short, the story will start before COTBP and will run through each of the movies with slight alterations here and there.<br/>Later on in the work, I'd like to do a poll or something to decide between Jack or Barbossa as the romantic partner. You'll see why as time goes on. If no one participates, I'll just go by my own judgement of who is best suited.<br/>This is rated M for really dark themes and scenes. I don't intend to write smut of any sort, not really comfortable with the idea. I will add romance and allusions to intimate moments. Feel free to fill in those explicit scenes with your own writing ( you can post it even) as long as you ask permission first.<br/>Disclaimer 2: I am adding pictures that inspired me to write each chapter. I don't own any of them, they are all created by many different, wonderful artists.</p><p> </p><p>Mamaidh= mother in GAELIC NOT GARLIC, IT KEEPS AUTOCORRECTING TO GARLIC.</p><p>IF YOU CAN'T SEE THE PICTURE OF MAGNUS MANOR: https://i.imgur.com/XttRZk9.jpg</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Chapter One- Isolated</b>
</p><p><span>The morning mist hung heavy in the air, held down by an overcast Cornish sky. The horizon stretched on endlessly, tempting the sleepy town of St. Ive's with the rumbling bellows of the sea. A thunderous storm brewed over the ocean waves, crawling closer and closer to the shoreline. Soon, the port town would be suffocated by the chaotic rumblings of the Celtic Sea. The storm, however, could not compare to the perfect pandemonium in the young girl’s mind. She spent much of her morning contemplating the words 'possession' and ‘suffocation’ while peering out of the oblong tower window. Her heart ached to step outside, to dance in the soft grass, to let the wind billow out her fine gown.</span> <span> Many mornings, she sat in this exact window and stared off into the same mysterious ocean beyond. She’d think of her wild beginnings and the love she felt on the Isle of Skye-- her true home. The girl reveled in the vivid remembrances of her mother’s ethereal, serene nature and the undeniable call of the sea she felt even at such a young age. Other times, her mind buzzed with dreams in which she whisked away into the night, leaving to uncover the wonders of the world beyond Magnus Manor.</span> <span><br/>
</span> <span>Yet, dreams, however thrilling they may be, were simply dreams. The young girl did not think it likely that she would ever wander free-- the man who took her in would not allow it. '</span><em><span>And why should I want to leave? I have everything I need here.' </span></em><span>she pondered, as if repeating the very same phrase she told herself several months ago would convince her. In some ways, she did have everything she needed in the grand abode. A very caring governess looked after her education and her every need; she had a large bed-chamber to slumber, a personal hearth to warm her and an expansive, luxurious dwelling she shared with the generous and auspicious Lord Walter Magnus. He’d given her everything and yet he denied her of her freedom, of companionship and experience. A restless and dreadful premonition stirred within her every time the window called to her, as if something terrible lurked just beyond every corner of the estate and the only safety was beyond its cold stone walls. The desire to escape grew within the pit of her belly like a serpent offering her forbidden fruit. She felt like a possession of the Lord and of this manor, a trinket left to be forgotten. He had ownership of all manner of things in the estate, including her.</span></p><p>
  <span>"It's time to get ready for breakfast, Miss Moira." The tender voice of her governess filled her thoughts, grounding her back into her oppressive life. "Coming, Charlotte." The dark-haired sixteen-year-old turned to the maid, smiling softly and sliding out of the red velvet chair in front of the window. Charlotte closed the door quietly behind her as she entered, making her way to Moira's unmade bedding. The governess had the subtle and squeaky voice of a mouse. She held herself in the same capacity, with hunched shoulders and sweet brown eyes cast downwards most often than not. Charlotte had been with her since Magnus claimed Moira as his ward ten years prior, acting as a friend, teacher, and mother. </span>
</p><p><span>"Let me help." Moira smiled kindly at the woman, moving to the opposite side of the large bed and pulling the linen sheets up with Charlotte.</span><span><br/>
</span><span> "Oh. Miss, you really mustn't. Don't you worry about me now."</span><span><br/>
</span><span>"I insist." </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira's gaze met Charlotte's with an empathetic look, her brows soft and quirked upward. Charlotte's hands shook with nerves and pain, both severely bruised and oozing from open wounds. She did not see it happen, but Moira knew in the way Charlotte trembled whenever the Lord entered the room that she’d met his wrath and his switch. The two labeled his ire as his 'black moods', a state of being the old nobleman was in more often than not as of late. The man spent much of his time dwelling in his own shadows and secrets, making arrangements for St.Ives and the East India Trading Company and training his blade. His black moods came over him instantaneously and seemingly unprovoked-- though no one truly knew what the man’s dealings were nor the true state of his mind.</span></p><p><span>Moira eyed Charlotte's wounded hands, wishing with all her might that they would vanish and the incident would erase itself. He punished his servants many times prior, although Moira had never seen it and would only hear brief moments of violence. Moira found it odd that she’d only ever heard these outbursts but never see it, nor would she see any other face other than his or Charlotte’s in the entirety of the lonely estate. This was the first time she witnessed the aftermath of his angry outbursts. Unbeknownst to her, it would not be the last.</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span> <span> "You did not deserve what he did to you." </span><span><br/>
</span><span>Charlotte’s lips quivered at Moira’s statement as she tried to bite back the tears pricking her eyes.</span><span><br/>
</span><span> "It will only be so long until he does the same to you, Miss… and perhaps worse."</span><span><br/>
</span><span>" What do you mean by worse?"</span><span><br/>
</span><span>"It's not my place to say…"</span></p><p>
  <span>Moira blinked at Charlotte with a mixture of indignation and confusion. She stomped around the bed and clapped her hands on Charlotte's shoulders. Settling onto the edge of the bed, Moira pulled Charlotte down next to her.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"If you know something, you have to tell me." Moira stared at the governess with pleading eyes and a soft frown. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The brunette maid blinked away her tears and her submissive, doe-like orbs fixated on the cold floor. The ward could sense something terribly heavy weighing on Charlotte's mind. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It’ll be okay, Charlotte. Tell me.”  She wrapped an arm around the governess comfortingly and waited intently for a response.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"All I can tell you is to leave, my girl. Leave and never look back. You don't have much time left and he is becoming angrier by the day." The seriousness in her tone caused Moira’s stomach to drop with dread, a hollow sensation whittling away at her insides. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"Why? What is going to happen?"</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"He intends to keep you here, pure and untouched… for a time." Charlotte shrugged off Moira's arm and stood up, hands clasped tightly in front of her. "I really cannot say anything else. I'm sorry, Miss." Her governess walked solemnly to the changing area in the far left corner of the room and waited for Moira to follow.  To have a secret truth dangled in front of her face only to have it hidden away again felt like a cruel fate Moira would have to resign to. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Maybe you should leave too. He’s left you in ruins.” The young ward met her governess behind the privacy screen, letting the woman begin to strip her of her nightclothes. She felt dejected by the words Charlotte riddled out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘What does she mean he will keep me pure for only a time? What’s to become of me?’</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span>The governess spared a mirthless laugh, a weary smile spreading on her small doll-like mouth, never to reach her eyes.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Ruins is the word for it, Miss Moira. He’d be certain I’d never find employment again in this simple port town… not that it would be challenging for him to manage that anyhow. There’s nowhere else for me to go.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Perhaps if I were to leave, he’d dismiss you without repercussion.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Perhaps..” Charlotte trailed off, wincing at the pain in her hands while she laced the elegant shift to fit Moira’s feminine frame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlotte prepared Moira for the day, neither sharing another word. The poor maid looked particularly desolate and fearful after the conversation. Each time Moira glanced her way, she felt a pang of guilt for coaxing the information out of her. After a time, Moira took to staring into the dressing mirror instead, avoiding the maid's distressed eyes. In the reflection, she remembered her mother's wild, tangled hair and expressive eyes- the very same green sheen as hers. Her heart ached terribly at the thought of the woman, yet Moira refused to stop seeing her in her own features. Her features would be the only souvenir she kept of her mother and her origins. She wore them with pride, knowing that one day she would bestow her own child with these simple souvenirs. Except, Moira swore she would never leave her child behind, no matter the circumstance.  Once donned in a crimson gown, her hands neatly wrapped to hide the secret beneath, Moira looked to Charlotte once more.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Would you allow me to wrap your hands as well, Charlotte?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The governess looked taken aback, not expecting such a request from the young girl. “You don’t need to worry about me, Miss. I’ll be right as rain soon enough. I’ll wrap them myself once you get down to breakfast.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"I'm sorry for pressing you." she whispered, wrapping her arms around the impossibly tiny woman. They remained in an embrace for a few long moments before Charlotte broke away and forced another smile.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span> "Be brave, love. Don't allow him to make your choices for you."</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moira shared her first meal with Walter as usual, bidding each other a good morning. He seemed unnaturally chipper in their meeting as if he had heard some excellent news. Moira couldn't put her finger on why he was in high spirits, but she could sense he did not want her to know the circumstances. Too intimidated by his explosive propensity, Moira did not prod him about his unusual mood.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"What do you have planned for the day, sire?" she asked, hoping to make some semblance of normal conversation.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Magnus hummed in acknowledgment, silent whilst mid-drink of his morning tea. Settling the cup onto its plate, Magnus gazed at the young girl.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span> "A few meetings later in the day...I expect you'll stay in the West Wing and continue your studies. I’ll come to collect you when I’d like your company."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Moira looked down at the hardboiled egg on her plate, slightly dejected by the fact that she would be quarantined in the West Wing yet again.  He reached over to her, placing a large hand on hers comfortingly. Moira tensed and stared at the gesture-- at the hand that left Charlotte’s fingers bloody and knuckles bruised.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It won’t be long today, Moira. Perhaps in the evening, you and I could spend some time together in the study.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I-I don’t mean to seem ungrateful, sire. It gets rather lonely up there. Can’t I stay with you today? I could help you with whatever you need.” A soft chuckle rumbled in his throat and he lifted her chin to meet his eyes. Moira shivered, conflicted by the softness of his touch and the fear she held for him.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"You've grown into such a fine woman, Moira. I can see that you’re trying, but you need a little more time before you can make an appearance to my colleagues. You don’t seem to take to your lessons as well as I’d hoped.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I do try to please you, sire. I often think of what I should do and how I should act... I’m just not accustomed to such manners.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yes, well, I am sure some more time will be fruitful for you then.” His attempts at encouragement sounded more like an order and Moira felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. Magnus made sure to be careful of his next words, although it seemed silly to Moira for him to sugarcoat the truth.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“After some… discussion with the governess, I’ve decided to give you till your eighteenth birthday. All will reveal itself in due time."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘By discussion, do you mean torture?’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>She wished she’d been brave enough to say it but relented to simply think it.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What more do I need to learn?” She dare not look at him for fear that he may see the thoughts dancing around her head.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"Your manners, for starters. That wandering imagination of yours proves to be more troublesome than its worth. Your mouth, you must learn to bite your tongue. It’s not a high-class lady’s place to decide what is good for the house, especially that of a lord.” He scolded, his firm demeanor returning as he relinquished his hold on her chin. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And what will happen when I’m eighteen?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“ I will extend more privileges to you once you become a proper lady."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Moira blinked with an expression of presumed hopefulness, though her insides felt as if they’d twisted into a ball. His words didn’t ring as true as she wanted to believe. Something was off and the answer was dancing just outside of her line of sight.  </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Thank you, sire. I shall try my best to please you.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Magnus leaned back and offered her a wry smile.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"I am sure you will make an obedient wife one day."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>At that moment, the blooming woman felt the connotation of his compliment was all too intimate for someone she wanted to consider a father-figure.</span>
</p><p><span>The remainder of the day whiled away as many others, with the same monotonous activities keeping her stuck in the large estate. Her time was taken up by the lessons Charlotte taught daily. Needlework, arithmetic, and the movements of a classic woman seemed extraordinarily dull to Moira. She did find a keen interest in music lessons and the written language, spending much of her time writing stories of grandiose adventures. Moira would often beg Charlotte to spend the day with her reading instead of the usual curriculum, which Charlotte sometimes indulged. Charlotte worked tenderly and deliberately with Moira, yet much of the aspects of womanhood did not seem to suit the young ward. The poised and aristocratic way of life proved stifling and boring to the young woman, who lived wildly up until the age of six on the shorelines of Skye. Her mind often trailed back to the days of her unbridled, nature-oriented childhood throughout the day, especially when practicing arithmetic. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>She recalled the whipping, salty winds tangling her hair so badly her mother would spend nearly two hours trying to brush it out. The stories her mother told her in these quiet moments together bewitched Moira. She spoke of Calypso's ever-changing, untamable waters and her fickle love of Davy Jones: Ferrier of the Dead. Her mother always ended the story with the whispers of a heart-shaped music box the Goddess and the Ferrier each held tenderly. Every time they thought of each other, the music box would play a sweet-nothing of a lullaby. If Moira stayed very quiet, she swore she could hear the tune tinkling on the waves-- a sign of Davey’s lament. Something about the passion her mother held for the Goddess pulled Moira to the ocean so fiercely; it seemed nearly irresistible. It was certainly irresistible to her mother.</span><span><br/>
</span><em><span> 'The sea so entranced mamaidh that </span><span>she allowed it to take her from me. If I had made her happy enough, maybe she would've stayed with me forever.' </span></em><span>Moira thought to herself, looking down at her bandaged hands. Beneath the wrappings lie her past, present and future- a mystery even she could not decipher or understand with such a limited scope of the world—another question to be left unanswered in the slew of many, many others. In Moira’s mind, her mother left her because the pain of living without her husband and the burden of motherhood was simply too much to bear. </span><em><span>‘How different would life be if she stayed?’</span></em></p><p><span>"Moira, are you listening?"</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Charlotte's voice interrupted her wandering mind, bringing her back to the moment. </span><span><br/>
</span><span>“Get out of your dreams, silly girl. We have work to do.”</span><span><br/>
</span><span> Fresh parchment lay sullied by a blot of ink dripping out of the quill held in her hand. "I'm sorry, could you show me again?"</span></p><p>
  <span>No matter how hard she tried to focus, Moira could not shake Charlotte’s warning from her thoughts. It grew the seed of fear within her and became a constant reminder of some impending doom. No matter how hard she pried, Charlotte dared not breathe another word to Moira about the conversation in her bed-chambers. Anytime the young budding girl asked, Charlotte's mouth would form a tight, terse line and her brows would arch high onto her forehead. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"I'm not entirely sure what you are talking about." </span>
  </em>
  <span>The maid claimed multiple occasions, prompting a perplexed expression to mar her student's young visage. Moira eventually let it drop, surrendering to the idea that she alone may have to put the pieces together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moira found her gaze transfixed on Lord Magnus during the afternoon break they shared between the lulls of his private meetings. She felt that if she stared at him long enough, he would begin to unravel his secrets without breathing a single word. He spent their afternoon tea time boring holes into a globe with his silvery orbs and scribbling down coordinates. His large, thoroughly groomed hand spun the spherical map over and over, stopping here and there to study it further. She closed her eyes, listening to the pitter-patter of rain and imagining it to be the tears of God. Tears meant for Charlotte. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘What man would do such a thing to such a kindly woman?’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>She thought with a feeling of deep sorrow, opening her eyes again when all she could see was Charlotte’s wounded hands behind her lids. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘What man would lock his daughter away from the world like this?’ </span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What are you thinking?”  His voice interrupted her thoughts, pulling her back to the tension she felt whenever she shared space with Magnus.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Why would God let you do such terrible things?’</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span>“I’m listening to the rain, doesn’t it sound lovely, sire?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>A small smile graced his thin mouth and he nodded in agreement. “Why yes, I suppose it does.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Would you ever let me feel the rain on my skin?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He glanced at her with a brow quirked in annoyance. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well, you’d get wet and catch a cold, dear.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Moira hummed and looked down at her hands before closing her eyes once more. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I shall dream of it instead, then.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span> Moira could feel the man's greedy eyes flicking to her form and back to the map. </span>
  <span></span><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Some nights were sanctified by his retreat to his bed-chamber quite early. If she were lucky, he would drift to sleep with no issue. Only then could Moira breathe fully and without fear. Those nights she would wait until near midnight to begin writing fantastical stories of faraway lands and sailing the seas. It was these moments that made her feel free-- though freedom only lasted as far as her mind could stretch. She longed for a day that would taste of real freedom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She did not fully comprehend that the very dark secret about Lord Walter Magnus was Moira herself. The man kept her so close; most did not know she ever existed. He refused her every request to walk about the courtyard alone or explore the blooming town of St. Ives, with or without him. Most did not know that he adopted a child, nor did those who knew dare question his possessive nature-- except for Moira.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Choices</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here is chapter two! I am pretty excited to continue writing this story. Let me know what you think!</p><p>DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the plots or characters of the POTC-verse. Any original plotlines and characters are of my own creation.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <strong>  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Chapter Two- Choices</strong>
</p><p>Choice was the next word Moira obsessed over when she stared out the very same window, in the very same red velvet chair. The days blended together for her, each becoming the same as the last.<em> 'Don't let anyone take away your choice.'</em> played on repeat in her mind for weeks. The young girl felt suffocated in the large home and the possibility of choice would be the only thing that gave her breath. "Women of distinction must sit tall, chest presented and hands folded neatly in the lap, Moira." Charlotte snapped her shaky fingers in front of Moira's face, clearly exasperated by her lady's wandering mind. " Sorry." Moira replied meekly, adjusting from her slouched comfort into a more refined position. "Where has your mind been wandering off to?"<br/>"I just… I can't stop thinking about what you said. My mind is buzzing with possibility."<br/>"Such as?"<br/>"My choices. Why am I locked away here? Why won't the Lord allow me to see anyone or even walk about the courtyard?"<br/>"I simply can't answer that. We need to focus on your lesso-"<br/>"To hell with the lessons, Charlotte! This isn't what I envisioned my life to be. I'm not some… some animal to be locked away and forgotten about."<br/>"My dear one, what exactly did you envision your life to be?" Moira looked out at the horizon longingly, seeing the hint of water just beyond the treeline.<br/>"I belong to the ocean. It's where my parents are."<br/>Charlotte sighed and a smile graced her kind mouth. "I don't think any amount of womanly training will shake the wildness from you, girl."<br/>"You must know why he keeps me locked away, Charlotte. You can tell me. I won't breathe a word of it to him or anyone else."<br/>A tense expression fell over Charlotte's face. She felt trapped between the fear of her employer and the persistent pleas of her mistress.<br/>"He's a possessive man, Moira. He likes to keep his pretty things on shelves or tucked away. That's what you are to him. And…" she looked around the room, as if checking to see if anyone was listening. " He wants me to prepare you for marriage. To him."</p><p>Moira's brows furrowed in confusion.<br/>"I've been here since I was just a child… has this been his plan all along?"<br/>"Yes."<br/>"I would never marry that monster!"</p><p>Charlotte clapped her hand over Moira's mouth, putting one finger up to her own lips. "Hush, child. You never know who is listening."<br/>Moira lurched away, settling into the seat. <em>'Listening in? Does she mean to say-?'</em><br/>"He spies on us?"<br/>Charlotte nodded sharply, chewing on her lip with slight worry.<br/><em>'I can hardly imagine being a wife, let alone his.'</em> She shook her head quickly as if she could shake the inevitability of it all.</p><p>Upon Magnus' approval, Moira spent the rest of the day in the study on the main floor. She found solace in Utopia by Thomas More. May it be her need for distraction or the contents of the book, Moira couldn't seem to put it down. It was not till a quarter past six and dusk settled in that she had been torn from the book. Just as Moira read the words: "If the lion knew his own strength, hard were it for any man to rule him.", Walter Magnus sauntered into the large study. He stopped here and there to fiddle with trinkets, books and the large globe sat in the corner. The room remained quiet for several minutes and it was not until the tension was near impossible to ignore that either of them spoke. "Miss Moira," He cleared his throat, seeming uncharacteristically awkward. " May I have a word?" Moira hummed in response, sliding the book away from her face reluctantly. His small, iron eyes pierced hers before flicking down to the book. " A lady should not be reading a book such as that." His voice dripped of indignation and irritability and he quickly snatched the book from her lap. Moira flinched and raised her hands, looking at him in shock. " Why?"<br/>"It's unbecoming of a woman. Men do not enjoy mindless ramblings from the imagination of a silly girl." He shook the book at her violently, black, arched brows furrowing together. Moira blinked intensely, trying to discern whether his mood would escalate or not. " I didn't know, I'm sorry."<br/>He promptly threw the book into the crackling fire. His towering figure intimidated her even more than usual as he stepped closer- so close in fact his knees were nearly between her legs. If the invasion of privacy was not enough, Magnus took her chin firmly into his hand and tilted her head up. " It's unbecoming of a bride to be filled with such nonsense." he sneered, an ugly smirk growing wide on his impossibly thin lips. Moira's eyes widened and she began to shake with fright. "Yes, Moira, I heard your conversation with the governess. I've invested my time and resources into you, you pathetic wench. I have given you shelter and comfort. I could have left you to rot on that stupid little island, pining for that blubber-filled harlot you called a mother. This is how you repay me? With slander?" Magnus pushed her chin away and stepped back from his intimidating position. " Due to your foolishness, I will simply have to punish the poor woman and teach you a lesson on how to bite your tongue."<br/>"No, you won't." Moira shot up, standing as tall as she could. Furious tears threatened to burst from her eyes as he made his way to the door. "Oh yes, I will."<br/>Moira chased after the man, begging him to keep his hands off Charlotte. "I'm the one who pushed the matter. It should be me getting punished."<br/>They rounded the corner of the last staircase when Moira grappled his arm with both hands. Magnus reared around to face her, his free hand connecting with her throat and squeezing. He pushed her against the railing and leaned her back nearly over the side. Moira fastened herself to his arm even tighter, praying to God that these would not be her last moments. "It is your punishment."<br/>He yanked her against him and continued down the hall, heading toward the west wing. "Charlotte!" He called for the maid repeatedly, a maniacal expression on his face. By this time, Moira was in hiccups of tears, the hot liquid blearing her eyes. It was not till the third call that Charlotte did show herself, shaking and sobbing already. " You thought it wise to tell her about the marital arrangement, did you?" A resounding smack echoed off the walls as the back of his hand connected with Charlotte's jaw hard. Charlotte collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath and holding her face with one hand. "Don't touch her!" Moira screamed, jumping in front of Magnus. A mirthless smile graced his threadlike, spit-slick mouth for a split second. The back of his large, ringed hand slammed into her cheek with enough force to knock her off her feet. A searing and sharp sensation bloomed from the point of impact and pulsated throughout her entire face. The extreme pain ripped the wind from her lungs and she laid there, gasping like a fish out of water. Moira curled into a tight ball, so small she seemed barely there, while the world whirled around her. Hot liquid dribbled down her cheek and pooled over the curve of her nose. <em>'Blood.'</em> she thought to herself, gripping at her face as if her hands were the only thing holding it together.<br/>A blood-curdling scream cut through the ringing in her ears, ripping Moira out of her daze. Her head snapped in the direction of the screams and her mouth opened wide in horror. Charlotte lay writhing on the ground in completely agony, nose, cheek and mouth bleeding profusely. One devastating boot pressed down on the maid's hand, crunching and snapping the bones beneath. "Stop, please! Please, stop!" Moira repeated over and over, wrapping her hands around his foot and pulling at it as hard as she could. Magnus stumbled slightly and lifted his foot away from the pair. He leaned down and grabbed Moira's face again, squishing it between his fingers. Blood and tears dripped over his hand while his eyes cut into her like daggers. "I made you into what you are today. Without me you are nothing, you sniveling brat. I raised you to be a loyal and proper lady, were all of my efforts in vain?" he asked, his face close enough that she could smell the stench of alcohol and rotting teeth on his breath. "No, sir." she whispered shakily. He shoved her head away and stormed off, large stomping boots quaking the earth beneath. The only sound Moira could hear after that was Charlotte's rasping sobs. She scooted closer to her maid and wrapped her tightly in her arms.</p><p>Moira, though stupefied by Lord Magnus' fierce hand, tugged Charlotte through the winding halls until they reached her room. In the shroud of the unlit and cold interior, Moira felt her way through to the bed. She helped Charlotte into the bed, ignoring the protests and groans from the injured woman. "Do not move from here." she whispered, laying a soft hand on the maid's arm.</p><p>She spent the next few hours attending to their wounds and wrapping Charlotte's broken hand and crushed fingers. No matter what she did, Moira could not find a remedy to ease her companion's pain. Charlotte seemed unable to cope, rendered unable to even sit up without a severe bout of vertigo chaining her to the bed.<br/>"Where would I find a draught of laudanum in this god forsaken house!" Moira hissed breathily, unsure if Magnus would still be listening in. She highly doubted this, as the waning crescent moon was approaching its pique, disclosing the lateness of the night. Charlotte groaned and shifted in the bed, breath still heavy in her chest. " Check the undercroft. There's a door leading to it on the main floor - west wall."<br/>Moira stared at the poor maid, trying to fight off the fear of being caught should she leave the west wing. Charlotte lay on her side, pupils constricted and a far away glaze plastered over her deep brown gaze. <em>'I cannot simply sit here and watch her suffer. I have to try something.'</em> Moira removed her shoes and placed them by the bed, brushing the backs of her fingers over Charlotte's hot forehead. She carefully pulled the covers over Charlotte, helping her turn over away from the candlelight.<br/>" I'll be back."</p><p>Sneaking through the west wing proved considerably easy since many did not visit the area often. Apprehension left her sore throat tight and hands shaking violently- yet Moira knew there would be no turning back. Something changed within the girl the moment he struck Charlotte in front of her. Some naïve delusion shattered within her and Moira felt clear in her motivations for the first time in her life.<em> 'If the lion knew his own strength, hard were it for any man to rule him.'</em> She repeated this quote in her own mind, recalling how simple and calm the day was just several hours prior. In her mind, she was the lion emerging from her cave and the man who wished to control her would no longer be met with meekness.</p><p>Moira rounded the corner and made her way to the nearest staircase, holding her gown above her ankles. Voices echoed off the walls and Moira crouched immediately by the railing. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears and it took all of her willpower to keep her breath shallow and quiet. Two forms, one the familiar hulking figure of Lord Magnus and the other of an unknown man stood by the base of the main staircase. Magnus held a single candle holder, the light flickering over his aristocratic face. From his expression, Moira could tell he was especially dour this evening. Their voices were hushed, but the silence of the manor and the echo in the main hall allowed her to listen in.<br/>"My apologies for the late hour, m'lord. I am here to divulge information of utmost importance."<br/>"Out with it, then."<br/>"Your previous agreement with Kain has proven dangerous. He thinks he has leverage over us and demands more pay from you for his silence."<br/>"Who the hell is Kain?"<br/>"The map charter."<br/>"Oh, well I suppose that is of some importance."<br/>"Yes sire, but no need to worry. I have a lead on a map-charter to assist in the venture you've coordinated with Captain Belroy. I insist that your approval will help resolve this time sensitive matter."<br/>"What makes this new man an asset for me?"<br/>"He is already in the business, sire. His charting skills and discretion are unmatched. The man's been at sea since the age of thirteen. My sources claim he knows the stars like the back of his hand. He knows more uncharted land than any other map charter who has studied the Caribbean."<br/>For a few moments, there was silence while Magnus considered the offer. The stranger decided to press on quickly, hoping to convince Magnus of his lead and stave off any repercussions for arriving in the dark of night.<br/>"His name is Hector Barbossa, sire. I do know he is fulfilling some orders of another venture in the Caribbean… he's proven to be useful in the import and export of certain <em>products</em>. He's due to make port here late next year. "<br/>Walter clicked his tongue and hummed in response, giving a curt nod.<br/>"I'd wager it's time for you to visit the previous map charter and tell him his services are <em>no longer needed</em>."<br/>"I intend to finish the job tonight, sire."<br/>"Very well, out you go."</p><p>The dark form of Magnus moved like a phantom up the stairs. The single candle danced fire across his pallid complexion, accentuating the gaunt structure of his face. Moira stared at him with a deductive expression. <em>'What is he plotting? What job is that man finishing?'</em> Her mind swarmed with questions. <em>'Who is this Hector Barbossa?</em>' The name itself sent a shiver of adventure down her spine. The idea of meeting such a well-traveled individual fascinated her.</p><p>Moira's thoughts were cut short once she realized the potential threat of detection. Magnus sauntered up the main staircase, seeming set on heading to bed. Assuredly, he would spot her behind the railing the higher he climbed. She bear-crawled backward, trying to move as silently as possible while remaining crouched. One foot skidded against the marble floor, creating a slight squeaking sound. Moira froze, eyes wide and dress hanging down. There was a short silence and then his clunky footsteps approached. Moira moved quickly, sidling behind the corner and sliding beneath a settee centered across from the window. Moira curled into an impossibly tiny ball beneath the settee, holding her breath as Magnus rounded the corner. His domineering boots were inches from her and she could feel the suspicion radiating off of him. Her heart pounded so loudly in her chest she feared Magnus may hear it. She knew that if he were to find her, she would be severely punished for sneaking about the corridor. <em>'Given his violent nature, I doubt I'd survive this punishment.'</em> she thought to herself, brows lifting high on her forehead with anxiety.</p><p>A few uncomfortable long moments passed and just as Moira thought he may never leave, Magnus skulked to the staircase once more. She waited for his receding footsteps to hit the second staircase and slid from the settee. Moving silently, she peeked around the corner to see him meandering down the main staircase. <em>'Oh shivers.'</em> Moira crouched down and began her dark descent down the steps. She paused briefly to watch the man heading down the east hall of the main floor and making a sharp left into his office. A huge part of her wanted to turn back, begged for it even. The fear seemed to drain all the blood from her body as she felt stone-cold and fastened to the spot. When she closed her eyes, all Moira could see was that far off expression Charlotte had etched across her face when she left the room. <em>'I can't abandon her, I can't.'</em> Moira screwed up her face and worked up every ounce of courage to continue her venture. She continued through the shadows and descended the main stairway quickly.</p><p>As she opened the small wooden door on the west wall, the scent of long since settled dust and moisture wafted into her face. Moira peeked over her shoulder to see if Magnus had noticed her. She was safe, for now. The young woman slipped into the musty cellar, clicking the door quietly shut.</p><p>With each step down, the air around her grew colder and colder. The stairway was extremely narrow with high ledges seemingly made for giants as steps. Moira crept down to the very bottom, still nervous of detection even in the abandoned undercroft. She stepped forward into a suddenly huge room, walls climbing high and ceilings vaulted. Large pillars decorated the room, holding up the vaulted ceiling with a sooty blackish flagstone. Despite how expansive the room seemed it was littered with so many possessions that it felt stuffy and labyrinthian. Moira worked her way through the maze, careful not to bump anything. It was not till she reached the very far wall that Moira began searching. Her fingers traced over many items; papers, fabrics and trinkets long forgotten. It seemed sad, in a way, looking at all these little snippets of time blanketed in a thick layer of dust. <em>'What I would give to have anything from my past.'</em> Her hand grazed over portraits of Magnus' family- people he seemed to prefer locked away and forgotten about. She knelt down in front of the portrait of a young boy. His complexion was sweet and soft due to his youth, though he held the same silver-gray stare that Magnus had. His eyes seemed to follow her every move while she brushed her fingers over the canvas. <em>'Is this Magnus as a child?' s</em>he thought, sitting back on her bare heels and staring. The nose didn't seem to fit her impression of Magnus, it was far too button-like and freckled. The child's growing facial structure did not resemble her guardian's either, although it seemed similar. Moira pulled the portrait toward her, looking for any indication of who the painting may be of. A small name: Oliver Walter Magnus, was scrawled near the very top.<em> 'Did Magnus have a child? Why hasn't he mentioned him?'</em> Moira set the portrait back, tearing her eyes away from the mysterious boy. <em>' Did he abandon him… or worse?'</em> Though she had a craving to find out who this child was to Magnus, Moira forced herself to focus on the task at hand.</p><p>Despite her attempts and thorough search, Moira could not find laudanum nor pure opium for the life of her. A particularly brash idea continued to dance in her mind, as well as the name Oliver Walter Magnus.<em> 'What if I nicked my own vial of laudanum from town?'</em> The daring scheme thrilled Moira more than she cared to admit even to herself. The undercroft held many treasures long forgotten, all of which Magnus would not remember to miss.<em> 'Would I be a charlatan to steal from him? Would that wrong be justified by the intention of ending Charlotte's suffering?'</em> Moira spent nearly a half hour warring with herself on the subject. It was not till her eyes landed on various pairs of men's breeches, worn cotton shirts and a dusty brown frock coat that her decision swayed toward the notion of adventure. <em>'Can I truly do this? Leave the manor and risk our lives?'</em></p><p>The young woman crept up the undercroft steps once more and slid from behind the small wooden door. Dim, flickering light cast darker shadows from his study. The faint sound of snores whispered from the room- a sign that the Lord was fast asleep. Moira sidled across the foyer and peeked around the doorway. Magnus slumped in his chair, head tilted far back and the gurgling, guttural sounds left his open mouth. She grimaced at his form and relief washed over her. The danger was not nearly as great as she expected, for when she looked upon his desk, a large snifter sat near empty. The acrid scent of his favorite drink assaulted her nostrils.</p><p>Moira's resolve hardened when she saw the restless woman lying in her bed. Charlotte's lank brown hair was ruffled by her twisting and turning and beads of sweat wetted her brow. The woman dozed on and off, but did not rest long before waking to the pulsating severity of her swelling hand. Moira quickly changed into the masculine garb and pocketed various trinkets she believed would fetch a price. "Charlotte." She roused the woman, receiving a very plaintive groan from the woman. "I will be back. I need you to remain under the covers and quiet, okay?"<br/>"Where are you off to? Why are you dressed like that?"<br/>"My search in the undercroft was fruitless. The only alternative is to find a doctor-"<br/>"No, no you can't. He'll kill you if he finds out. What about the east wing? The larder?"<br/>" He is fast asleep in his study and I am far too leery of him waking while I search so closely to him. I will be back before dawn. Trust me."</p><p>Charlotte looked as if ready to spring from the bed. After a few moments of a silent staring battle between the women, Charlotte sighed in defeat. "I don't have the energy to fight you tonight. I swear if you are found, it will be both of our lives. Be careful!"<br/>"That's just more incentive not to get caught."</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Kindred Encounter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Alright, here's another chapter I squeezed out. Please let me know how I did, I kinda rushed to get this one out. I also don't have an editor, so point out an errors or awkward wording to me please. Barbossa will be arriving after chapter 4, so keep a weather eye out. c;</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <strong>Chapter Three- Kindred Encounter</strong>
</p><p><em>‘I have no bloody idea what I’m doing.’</em><br/>Her hands gripped the sill of her open tower window, fingers cramping with the exertion. Moira glanced down at the shelf-like stone ledge just nearly grazing her bare toes. She gulped at the three story drop to the grassy earth beneath her, frightened by the inclination that she may very well injure herself or die trying to get to that ledge. Her strong-willed fervor to help her friend propelled her forward. She looked to the small gable-roofed dormer on her right. “Blasted rich men and their bloody big houses.” Sweat burned her eyes and her forearms screamed to release the ledge. Moira shimmied, none too dexterously, toward the gabled roof with the balls of her feet pressed against the exterior wall to assist the movement. She had taken a liking to the word <em>‘bloody’</em> over the past few hours, using it as an expression of the ticking timebomb of anger burrowing into the pit of her stomach. Moira leapt to the a-frame structure, barely making the gap and struggling to keep hold of it’s awning. A few feet below was a strong, spire-like archway that led into the main entrance. The chances of being impaled was decidedly high, but Moira knew there was no going back with her endurance dwindling. She swung side to side on the awning, attempting to gain some momentum to vault gracefully to the roofed archway. Instead, she flung herself and bellyflopped onto the shingled archway, sprawled out and sliding quickly down the obstacle. The shingles felt like sandpaper to her hands and face and in that moment, she felt grateful for the dusty frock coat protecting the rest of her front. She grabbed at whatever she could, trying to avoid the harsh descent-- but alas, her fingers found nothing. With a resounding thud, Moira landed on her back in the grassy courtyard. The air blasted from her pursed mouth and her diaphragm seized, refusing her the passage of breath.<br/>Moira rolled around in the dirt for nearly ten minutes with mouth agape like a fish, panic-stricken by the wind being knocked out of her. Once her burning lungs cooperated, she took in a small gulp of painfully refreshing air and settled herself onto her back. Her emerald eyes stared at the archway she fell from and she silently thanked the gods it had not been higher than roughly one story. <em>‘I have no bloody idea what I’m doing, but I think I am doing it rather well.</em>’<br/>The young woman stumbled through the mostly quiet streets, head pounding, face stinging and back distinctly smarting from her fall. She checked herself in any reflections she could, reassuring herself that her chest was bound properly and her hair rightly disheveled and boyish. She had twisted her long, ebony locks atop her head, letting the ends peek out from her makeshift bandana in the semblance of a shaggy coiffure. What she had not expected would contribute to her disguise was her shingle-scuffed face and the dirt speckled all over her skin from rolling around like a pig in the farmyard. She passed as a boy, albeit a somewhat younger boy than her true age, as her bruised and swollen face still held a soft, fairer structure to it. Moira kept her chin tucked and gaze on her bare feet, avoiding the eyes of the seedy characters prowling the lantern-lit streets. She did not notice how far or long she walked until she heard the boisterous sounds of drunken people and the gentle lap of water. Moira looked up, finding herself at the busy docks and standing outside a rather disreputable looking tavern. A group of bumbling, swaying men stood near to the tavern door, one of which glared in her direction. She tucked her chin again and started walking past-- but it proved to be too late.<br/>“ ‘ey, little man. What are y’doing out here all by your lonesome?” The tall, teetering character slouched up to her, his beard wetted by drink, bile and flecks of spit flying from his mouth.<br/>“ What’s it to you?” she retorted darkly, dropping her voice a few octaves in attempts to sound masculine.<br/>“Think roughin’ in the streets makes you tough, aye lad?” Three others joined him, sidling up to Moira with the very same swagger as the last.<br/>“Let me pass.”<br/>“We know yer type. Little sea urchins run amok with their boyish charms and wit, picking up all sort o’ fine ladies. Not leavin’ enough for the rest of us to partake in the pleasure. Well, that’s not proper, aye lads?”<br/>“Aye!”<br/>“You’re making an awful lot of assumptions. I’m just out to get some medicine.” Moira moved to step around him and found that this man and his friends were indeed closing into a circle around her. Her heart pounded in her chest and a familiar fear unfurled up her spine.<br/>“At this hour? What medicine you after, whelp?” chimed in a spindly caricature of a man, beside the bearded fellow.<br/>“Tryin’ to nurse your loins, eh lad?”<br/>“Laudanum. I’m after laudanum.” She corrected, fighting off the urge to roll her eyes.<br/>“For them black eyes and fat cheek, eh?” the bearded drunkard circled her, sizing her up in every which way.<br/>“Let me think, yer not going to crawl up the next lady’s backside in the tavern too? I suggest you run back home, little man.” His face was inches from her, causing her cheeks to flush with discomfort.<br/>Moira’s nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed dangerously at the bearded man. Fear and a blooming, burning rage warred within her. They were wasting her precious time-- the longer they talked, the longer Charlotte suffered. “ Get out of my bloody way.” she hissed. Without fully realizing what she started, Moira hocked as much spit as she could muster from her parched mouth and splattered it on the bumbling fool blocking her path.<br/>As quickly as she spat, the man’s large fist swung toward her face. Moira ducked below his punch, effectively dodging it. <em>‘What’s gotten into me?’</em> She smiled, amazed by her quick reflexes. Her excitement was short-lived as another, slightly smaller but equally painful fist collided with the other side of her face. Two strong arms wound around each of hers and fastened her to the spot before she could collapse. “Yer not gettin’ away this time.” the bearded man growled, spittle flying on her face. Another swing and his fist connected with her stomach, causing her to immediately expel its contents onto his shoes. Reeling and struggling to breathe, Moira felt like her head would spin straight off her shoulders. “You bed-wettin’ bull calf!”<br/>Another strike slammed into the very same cheek Magnus struck, this time her teeth slicing the inside of her mouth open from the blow. She spit out the blood seeping from the inside of her cheek and found within her the only sliver of rationale left amongst the violence. Moira waited till he was ready to hit her again and promptly plowed her knee upward into his groin. The man let out a tremendous “boof!” and crumpled. Panic erupted within her when she realized her strike would only escalate the situation. One of the men let go of her arm to help his partner up, while the other knocked her to her knees with a swift kick. “Yer in for it now, whelp!”<br/>“Alright, alright! That’s enough! You lot get out of here!” A harsh, yet rather feminine voice cut into the commotion. Suddenly, a rather cross wispy-haired brunette slapped a dirty rag at the men. “ You better sod off before I call the guards!” Her thick, arched brows furrowed menacingly and a harsh frown pulled at the corners of her wide mouth. Moira took the distraction to spring to her feet, still wavering from the attack. “Not if we shut that pretty mouth of yers, ye won’t!” the bearded man grunted, struggling to his feet and shoving his cronies away. Moira glanced behind the woman to see a large man peeking his head out the tavern, glaring at the group. “Oh shivers!” she said quietly, watching the man stomp over them with his impossibly huge boots. “We got a pro’lem, gentlemen?” The closer he got, the more midgeted Moira felt. She opened her mouth once to say something but immediately shut it when his dark eyes met hers. Her attacker glared at the protective man but turned on his heel and stalked off. Clearly, the ragtag team of bullying men knew not to mess with the giant.<br/>“You.” the young woman snapped, pointing her finger at Moira, towel flinging wildly. “ Come in here with me.”<br/>The scent of sweat, spirits and piss assaulted her nostrils as the woman opened the rickety wooden door. Inside the darkwood tavern were men and women of various sizes, sloshing drinks at tables, picking fights and jabbering wildly to each other. Raucous laughter and the murmur of conversation overwhelmed Moira, who was accustomed to the quiet of the Lord’s Manor. She clamped her arms over her chest, feeling rather out of place. The sheer amount of bodies warmed the large room and the hearth is what made it sweltering hot, which proved to render Moira near breathless. “This way.” the barmaid said, walking nearly too quickly for Moira to follow while they navigated through the crowd. The colossal man behind her made her nervous to scuttle through the crowd, uncaring of who she bumped into.<br/>She led Moira behind the bar, grabbing her wrist and tugging her into a small room. Various liquors lined the walls and piles of crates and barrels took up much of the space. In the center of the room was a crate used as a makeshift table and two short barrels for seats. “Have a seat, love. I’ll clean you up.” The abrupt change in demeanor caught Moira off guard, but she complied. She slid into her seat and looked down at her bandaged, scraped up hands. The barmaid rummaged through some of the shelves and crates. <em>‘This doesn’t feel real.’</em> she thought, watching the complete stranger saddle up with the fixings to clean her wounds. Looking at the girl, there was something vaguely familiar in her soft doe-brown eyes and sharp jawline, though Moira could not figure as to why.<br/>“They really did a number on you, didn’t they?” The woman clicked her tongue, settling across from Moira and preparing a bowl of vinegar and warm water.<br/>“ I suppose...I suppose they did. Thanks for helping me.” Moira kept her voice low and chin tucked, mussing the ends of her hair that stuck out from the bandana. The girl hummed in response, soaking a clean cloth in the solution.<br/>“ That lot comes around here pretty often and they beat up on poor blokes like you. You best be careful.”<br/>“Noted.”<br/>“What’s your name, love?” Moira froze at the question, keeping her gaze trained on the bowl sitting in front of them. She racked her brain for a name, any name that would sound genuine enough to appease the woman. The only name that resonated with her was Oliver-- the same name of the mysterious painted boy hidden in the undercroft.<br/>“Oliver… Oliver Ward.” Moira bit her tongue at the daft choice of a last name. The only other word she could think of was her role in the manor and how very much she rebelled against it at this very moment. It felt strange to be in such an unkempt place with no expectations to meet.<em> ‘Well, other than being appropriately masculine and telling convincing lies.’</em> she thought, sparing a glance at the girl and back at her hands. They looked far too feminine to her. <em>‘Blast.’</em> Moira tucked her hands behind their makeshift workspace and folded them tightly together. She looked up twice more, diverting her eyes the second the woman’s gaze met hers.<br/>“Nice to meet you, Mister Ward. I’m Evelyn Blackwood.” Evelyn eyed Moira’s fidgeting form and cocked an inquisitive brow at her.<br/>“Nice to meet you, Miss Blackwood.”<br/>Moira shifted in her seat, brows furrowing while her eyes bore holes into the table. A half frown tugged at one side of her mouth. They fell into an awkward silence for a while, as Miss Blackwood patted the solution onto Moira’s cheek. Moira winced from the sting of the liquid and the ache from the pressure.<br/>“So, what brings you about here?”<br/>“Ow!.. Er, I needed to find some medicine for my...” Moira glanced around the room as if she would find her next lie. “Well, for me.”<br/>“Sorry, sorry.” Evie whispered with an apologetic smile. “I’ll see if I have some in my stores. Why don’t I fix you up a hot toddy first?”<br/>“Much obliged.” she said far too quickly in a near comical masculine voice. Moira gave a nervous smile that looked more like she was gritting her teeth. Evelyn blinked, bewildered by the presumed man's antics. The small woman disappeared through the doorway, leaving Moira alone to simmer in her own social ineptitude.<br/>Just when she felt safe enough to slouch into her seat, a deep voice interrupted. “We won’t tell yer secret, y’know.” Moira’s eyes flung up to the hulking man who leaned against the doorway. “Wh-what secret?” The man simply chuckled, rubbing a large hand over his pale, greasy hair. “You think the lass can’t tell when she’d been in your face that long?” Her eyes widened a fraction before she resorted to a stoic expression.<br/>“I don’t know what secret you’re talking about.”<br/>“You’re scaring the poor thing, Thomas. Don’t worry. It’s not that obvious.” the barmaid’s voice chimed in, squishing herself between the man and the doorway nonchalantly. She had a meager wooden cup filled near to the brim with liquid. “ Not everyone’s going to be patting your face up close and personal-like. Drink up!” Evie smirked in amusement as Moira wilted into her seat even further, befuddled and nervous. “So what’s your real name, love?” Moira sipped at the drink, making a funny face at the fiery whiskey mix. It came to a smooth finish of honey and lemon. She set the drink down, blinking at it precariously. Her silence was answer enough for Miss Blackwood and Thomas.<br/>“Well Miss, we don’t need a name, I s’pose. You can be Mister Ward out there-” He motioned to the tavern lying beyond the small room. “-and Miss Ward in ‘ere.” Thomas offered a half smile and Moira’s cheeks flushed when his black orbs met hers. <em>‘Oh god, they truly do know.’</em> She snatched up the wooden cup and took another large gulp of the mixture, spluttering at the sharp alcoholic bite.<br/>“So, can we at least ask why you’re dressed up as a man?” The barmaid prodded a little further, apparently too nosy for her own good. Moira hesitated yet again, drumming her fingers over the cup nervously. <br/>“I’m running from a man.” Her voice was near a whisper, finally dropping the masculine tone she adopted. Evelyn and Thomas exchanged a look before Evelyn’s sweet brown orbs flicked to Moira. Thomas slinked in and shut the door behind him, his figure far too big in such a confined space. “Do you need help, Miss Ward?” he asked, clapping a hand over Evelyn’s shoulder. Moira shook her head furiously, far too afraid to tell them that she and her governess did, in fact, need a way out. <em>‘How could I tell them? The second they knew I was the Lord’s ward, they’d take me straight back to him.’</em> In a last ditch effort to change the subject, Moira flung a few jewels and silver bands onto the table. “I just need a draught of laudanum and your discretion. Nothing more.” she spoke so quickly she was sure they’d not even understand her. Both Thomas and Evelyn blinked owlishly at the items. “I-um-I…” Miss Blackwood began, before opening and closing her mouth a few times, seemingly at a loss for words. Thomas cleared his throat harshly, leaning forward and taking a silver band and a polished emerald. “Alright, lass.” he muttered before exiting the small storage room. Evelyn pushed the trinkets towards Moira. “I don’t know where you got these, but I don’t expec--”<br/>“Please, take them. I’ve no use for them and I truly need you both to keep quiet about my identity. It’s a matter of life or death.” Moira pushed the trinkets toward the woman, looking at her with pleading eyes. <em>‘Life or death for more than just me.’</em> Her thoughts trailed to the poor maid suffering in her bedchambers. She worried away, wondering how much longer it would take before she could return to Charlotte and ease her pain even a fraction.<br/>Thomas slipped back in within a few minutes, a small glass vial in hand. “It’s not full, but it’ll tide you over for the time bein’.” he explained, placing the vial on the barrel. Moira hummed, standing upright and slipping the laudanum into her pouch. “Thank you for your hospitality… and for helping me with those men. May I inquire as to a more discreet exit?”<br/>Thomas nodded sharply, motioning for the small woman to follow him. Moira bid the barmaid farewell, leaving the woman to stare at the items now in her possession.<br/>The hulking man led her through the crowd and to a small door on the opposing wall of the bar counter.<br/>“Take care of yourself, Mister Ward.” he said, holding the door open for her. As she exited, she heard his voice call, “Feel free to come back ‘ere whenever yer in need of a respite!”</p><p>It took some time for the ward to find herself back on the familiar path leading to Magnus’ Manor, stumbling to and fro from the spirits she ingested. The whole way her mind buzzed with the possibility of returning to the tavern. Moira enjoyed her venture far more than she cared to admit, despite the excursion between her and the drunkards stumbling outside the tavern. For once in her very sheltered life, Moira fulfilled her craving for freedom. She did not realize that this freedom would become her addiction.<br/>Walking up to the grand estate, Moira’s guts dropped to her knees when she realized her error; she had not figured a way back into the manor. Biting her lip and stomach churning, she skulked through the courtyard nervously. She eyed the main entrance, knowing it’d be far too noisy and likely alert the Lord, should he still be sleeping a drink in the late hour. Dawn would creep up soon, likely rousing the man and increasing the danger of her mission. <em>‘There’d be no way of scaling the house either.’</em> Moira walked gingerly down the smaller pathway leading toward the side of the manor. Much to her dismay, the only other option seemed to be the servant’s entrance in the kitchens. She cursed herself for her own stupidity and lack of forethought while anxiety left her clammy and shaking yet again. Once she made her way to the meager entrance, she tried the door, praying to the heavens that it not be locked. Fortune seemed to be on her side as the door pushed open easily. Moira hurried inside, pressing the door shut as gently as she could.<br/>Moving from the kitchen to the east hall, Moira snuck a peek into Magnus’ office to see him slumped onto the desk, heavy snores reverberating from his throat. <em>‘Good. He’s still asleep.’</em> she thought, slinking past the office and into the foyer. Her bare feet felt like ice against the smooth marbled floor and her body swayed, heavy and haggard. Before long, Moira climbed up the stairs, made her way through the winding halls and into her bedchamber. Charlotte shifted under the blankets, sitting up from the sound. “Moira?” she called shakily. Moira shut the door behind her and meandered to Charlotte.<br/>“Heavens, child! What happened to your face? You look worse than before you left.”<br/>“It’s nothing. Just not as graceful as I thought.” Moira dismissed, slurring her words. Tugging on her satchel, she pulled out the small brown vial and held it out to the injured maid. “This is for you.”<br/>Without another word, Moira collapsed onto the other side of the bed, pulled the covers over her head and plummeted quickly into a dreamless sleep.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Unravel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, uhm... I might've did an oops when I said Barbossa would be in right after this chapter. I was going to make this chapter incredibly long and have the next one bring Barbossa into the picture. However, I found a natural stopping point here and I believe the next chapter will build up more information on him, perhaps ending right before he officially makes his appearance. Please bare with me! I appreciate support from those who are commenting and reading. </p><p>If you find any grammatical issues or something that needs fixing, let me know please!</p><p>Oh my god, I totally forgot to mention this. </p><p>mo chridhe= my heart</p><p>mamaidh= mother</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <strong>Chapter Four- Unravel</strong>
</p><p>“Moira.”<br/>A gentle hand brushed back the matted locks half hidden beneath an unwinding bandana. Moira burrowed her aching face into her pillow and let out a plaintive groan. Her name danced through her ears a few more times but all Moira could focus on was her throbbing headache and churning stomach. “Moira, you need to get cleaned up before he sees you.” Charlotte’s persistent voice grated on her sensitive ears and the young woman finally relented. She sat up with a grimace, eyes bleary with sleep and scratched at her scalp. The governess covered her mouth with her uninjured hand, looking rather shocked. “My dear, you look like you’ve just been trampled by a horse!” she exclaimed worriedly, pulling the covers off Moira completely. “That about sums up how I feel.” Moira chuckled, rubbing one tired eye and swinging her dirt-stained feet over the bed and to the floor. “Did the laudanum help you?”<br/>Charlotte smiled at the girl, though a tinge of guilt solidified behind her eyes at the question. “It did… Thank you for looking after me last night. I was not myself after…” Seemingly unable to continue, she glanced down at her heavily bandaged hand and sighed.<br/>“Let’s wash you up and get rid of these clothes.”<br/>“How about we hide them?” Moira stood, lifting her arms above her head to stretch her sore muscles. Charlotte tilted her head to one side almost comically. “Why would you keep those? They’re filthy and it’s not like you’ll be needing them again…” The governess trailed off, realizing the implications of what Moira was suggesting. “Oh. No. Oh no, no, dear. You can’t go out like that again! He’d be sure to find you out.”<br/>Moira scoffed, stepping around the woman and meandering to the changing area. Stripping off the layers of grimy clothes and slinging them over the changing wall, Moira pushed her point further. “How am I to ever get away from this wretched place if I have no way of moving an inch undetected? Was it not you that told me to leave sooner rather than later?” Her hands were clammy and forehead slick with sweat. Little purple spots formed in front of her eyes-- a symptom of dehydration, hangover or exhaustion-- she couldn’t tell. Moira made a point not to look in the mirror and investigate the damage done to her face. <em>‘I don’t care about my damned face… I just want to stop feeling like my stomach is made of lead.’</em><br/>Her stomach gurgled fiercely in response to her complaints and she clutched at the bare flesh of her abdomen, taking slow breaths.<br/>“Well, yes Missy. Not like this though… I didn’t mean like this. It’s improper and quite dangerous. Your cut up face is proof of that.”<br/>“How else did you mean for me to leave then? Should I give him a stern talking to and waltz out the front door? We both know what he does even with the smallest of insults. Look at what he’s done to you!” She motioned to Charlotte’s heavily bruised and bandaged face. Black, purple and blue bloomed over her eyelids, the edges yellowing into her natural complexion. The bandage on her cheek reddened over time, blood seeping through the white clean cloth. One eye was swollen nearly shut, the visible sclera a deep crimson color and her nose bent awkwardly to one side. Charlotte grimaced and averted her eyes to look at the ground instead. “You truly think I could convince him to let me leave?”<br/>“No, I don't think that! That’s not what I meant! It’s just--” Charlotte hurried to the maiden, trying to assist her with getting dressed. She seemed intent to busy her free hand and her restless mind. Moira swatted the hand away irritably, pulling the fresh outfit from the maid’s arms. She buried her face into the fabric with a groan, trying to block the sound and the light of day from her aching eyes. <em>‘It’s like someone’s cracked my head open like an egg.’</em><br/>“Just what, Charlotte? You don’t think I can do this without him finding out? Or is it that a ‘proper’ woman shouldn’t dress as a man?”<br/>“I fear that if he does find out, he will do far worse than a backhand.” Charlotte’s chin was tucked and her eyes boring holes into the smooth wood flooring. Moira lifted her head and studied the woman, seeing her for the very first time. In her expression, she did not see the detached submission of a servant-- she saw concern and fear for the child she essentially raised.<br/>Moira sighed heavily and turned away, pulling on the shift from the pile of clothes Charlotte gave her. She set to work putting on the ivory chemise gown, grateful to her governess for giving her something less restrictive. Her back ached so sharply it proved hard to breathe deep and the flesh of her stomach was scraped awfully from her fall off the archway. She tied a pastel blue ribbon above her hips, cinching the dress around her small waist.<br/>“I’d rather die fighting for my freedom than live suffocating in a cage.” The young woman mumbled, ripping the falling bandana from her head and letting her long,wild hair free. She stepped from behind the changing wall and faced Charlotte. “We both are not going to stay here, Charlotte, even if it means we have to run for the rest of our lives. Do you really think a crushed hand is the worst he would do to you? Do you think my compliance would truly stop that from happening?”<br/>She bit her lip, feeling the anguish well up within her. She clasped Charlotte’s small shoulders with each scraped up hand and stared her dead in the eye. “You cannot ask me to bear watching that man systematically destroy the closest thing I’ve had to a mother since… since...”<br/>‘Since my mother left me behind.’<br/>The governess’ warm eyes became watery and soft before she wrapped her arm around Moira. “You’re two times too bold, my girl. What happened while you were away to create such a change in you?”<br/>“It wasn’t overnight. It’s been years of feeling like I’m barely living. Don’t you feel it too? He’s smothering us to death. When he hurt you yesterday something broke within me. I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of fearing him. No matter what you’ve taught me-- I can’t fit this mold, Charlotte. You know that. We both know that, right?” she paused, watching Charlotte reluctantly nod her head. “ He won’t let either of us leave completely. We have to take our opportunities when we have them. Last night, I met the most wonderful people in the most unlikely of places. They asked if I needed help… I have to find out what they can offer us. They may be our only hope of escape.”<br/>The intensity of their discussion mounted a boiling pot of bile in Moira’s stomach. It was too much, the energy, the tidal wave of emotion washing over her and that blasted sun glaring in from her scant windows. Very quickly, she scrambled to her tower window by the hearth, flung it open and vomited down the side of the manor.<br/>“ Are you quite alright?” Charlotte hurried after the girl and placed a soothing hand on Moira’s back.<br/>“Tastes worse the second time around.” Moira garbled, wiping her mouth and grimacing at the disgusting taste. The governess was bewildered by the statement. “Whatever do you mean?”<br/>“I went to a tavern last night?” Her tone lifted near the end, sounding more like a question than a statement. She gave Charlotte the same awkward, teeth-gritting smile from last night.<br/>“A tavern? Where was this tavern?”<br/>“By the docks.” Moira looked over her shoulder, one brow quirked in suspicion. Charlotte’s mouth formed a terse line and her brows raised high on her forehead-- an expression Moira had seen only one other time. <em>‘She’s hiding something.’</em><br/>“P-perish the thought, out drinking like a sailor! Well, I hope this bout of nausea has put you straight! That’s not how a lady should behave, proper or otherwise! I’ll not hear another word, lest I expire from the shock of it!” Charlotte peered out the window and reacted animatedly to the placement of the sun, her good arm flailing wildly. “My goodness, look at the time! Magnus may be up at any moment. I’ll go… find a good excuse to give you some extra time before you make an appearance. Be a good girl and get washed up while I’m away.”<br/>Moira blinked owlishly as the governess all but ran to the door, laughing nervously the whole way. She swung it open, took one last look at Moira and slammed it shut, humming an anxious tune down the hallway.<br/>‘Yes, she’s definitely hiding something.’</p><p>Moira thoroughly scrubbed herself with a bowl and cloth, from her face, hands and down to her feet. Every so often, she slouched halfway out the window and let the exterior wall have it with her copious splatters of vomit slopping down. Once she felt that her stomach was thoroughly hollow, Moira swished her mouth with fresh, hot water from the kettle at her hearth and spit it out the window. Teetering slightly from the exertion and dehydration, Moira walked over to her mahogany bedside table and grabbed the bristle brush lying there. She brushed at her matted curls while sauntering toward the mirror. Seeing herself for the first time, she frowned heavily. Both of her almond-shaped forest green eyes were circled by black, purple and blue hues of bruising. Both cheeks held the same tone, though the left side much fainter than the other. The side bloodied by Magnus, the roof and lastly the drunkard from the tavern, looked horrific. What started as a sizable gash was rubbed raw, as if someone had taken a pumice stone to her cheek. “Well, this won’t do. I’ll have to cover it somehow.” The bruising could be explained away, but not the raw and oozing flesh of her cheek. She continued fiddling with her curls during her investigation, managing to tame it into a classic fontange coiffure with the natural volume and a few pins to keep it in place. Her next task was indeed, her face. She washed thrice more, cleansing the wounds thoroughly before applying honeyed cloth. The sticky honey soothed her flesh and kept the bandage on her skin. Finally, she took two long strips of cloth and moved to her red velvet chair. Slowly and carefully, Moira began wrapping the cloth around one hand, losing herself in a memory that filled her with countless questions.</p><p>
  <em>The cold sea lulled rhythmically over her little legs, washing the sand from between her toes. The ocean breeze caressed her gently, chilled enough to raise goosebumps on her arms.</em>
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  <em>"Mamaidh, why do I look like this?" Young Moria stared down curiously at her small, wet hands. She stretched her fingers out wide in front of her, revealing the thin webbing between each of them. "It’s the blood of the Selkie in you, mo chridhe." the soft spoken voice of her mother hummed behind her. The little girl looked up at her guardian, who busied herself by untangling the mats from her daughter's unruly obsidian curls. Her mother had a soft, oval face and long, slender nose that created an air of wisdom about her. Her eyes were a sharp cat-like smaragdine green that seemed to fixate on the undulating waves each time she could glimpse it. Her features were a contradiction, as if the poised of humanity and the exotic wild warred within her. "Selkie?" The curious tilt and wide, youthful eyes made her mother smile softly. The woman lifted her own hand and spread her fingers out in front of Moira’s face , revealing the same webbing between her own fingers. "Just like mamaidh. You belong to the ocean." Moira brushed a damp curl out of her face and blinked back down at her own hands "Like mamaidh." She announced, beaming at her little fingers. A serene silence soothed Moira, who slumped against her mothers warm chest. The sand was cool beneath their seats, the tide now working itself over their legs completely. Looking out at the gray clouds blanketing the sky and the endless careening of the salty sea, Moira felt at home. She did not know what a selkie was but if it meant she was just like her mother, she was perfectly content. A scuttle over Moira's feet made her yelp in surprise and wiggle her legs. She pulled her knees to her chest and peered over them to see what the perpetrator was. A little white crab danced side to side in front of her, clacking it’s tiny claws here and there. "Calypso!" She cried, bellyflopping next to the crab and over her mothers pale legs. Her mother chuckled at her antics and rubbed circles over Moira's back. "You're my daughter, but Calypso is the sea mother. She made us the way we are."</em>
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  <em>"Calypso," Moira stared at the little crab with fascination. “You're so pretty." She cooed, wiggling a finger back and forth with the crab's movement. Little did Moira know that Calypso's appearance would change her life irrevocably.</em>
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  <em>The mother stared at her young child, surrendering to the tears that slid down her cheeks. The call for home broke her mother’s heart and made it whole all at once.</em>
</p><p>Moira finished rebandaging her hands, slipping out of the trance-like state.<em> 'I hide the very thing that makes me hers.'</em> She sighed morosely, staring down at her lap. After all these years, Moira still did not know what selkie meant. There were no books within the study nor knowledge she could pry from her guardian on the word. The first time she asked, Magnus demanded she keep her hands hidden and refused to speak on it again. “It’s not natural. Keep those horrible things hidden, lest I trim them myself!” he said, glowering at her like she was an abomination and not a six year old orphan. Moira felt the same suffocating dread crawl up filling the hollow of her chest. What once felt empty from her mother's departure was filled with the ugly feeling of being his ward. The door opened and Moira whirled around to see Charlotte's anxious face. "Well, you’re looking much better now. I’ll tidy up in here and find a place to stash those dirty things." Charlotte motioned to the male garb hanging off the changing wall. Moira got up and walked towards the door. Charlotte’s good hand landed on Moira’s arm. “Oh and… be careful dear. He still seems a little ill-tempered.”<br/>Moira nodded tensely, steeling herself for whatever may come.<br/>Breakfast felt much like a game of cat and mouse. Moira would lose herself staring at the man, hatred mounting in her with every passing moment. He would find her eyes on him and look at her with question. She would of course respond with a demure smile to soothe his defensive reactions. “ I’d like to apologize.” she said finally, reaching over and touching his hand. The older man flinched, the severity of his gaze softening into surprise. He looked to her imploringly, trying to understand her boldness and her intent. “I’m sorry for the hurtful things I whispered that dreadful morning. I… I was scared and unsure. I didn’t rightly expect that I would be your bride.” she began, glancing at him quickly when he grew suspicious of her meaning. “Not that I would decline, m’lord. It would be an honor to be your wife. I-I was shocked by it all. I need some time to adjust to this, but I promise I am wholly and unequivocally yours.” Moira swore that she’d choke to death on the line of untruth spilling from her mouth. Her insides were screaming with rage at the man and it took everything in her not to attack him right then and there. Still, her exterior presented maidenly and contrite towards him. He studied her with his shrewd gaze, eyes lingering on her wounded cheek. Magnus, leaning back in his seat and chin tilted upward, intertwined his large fingers with hers. “All will be well in due time. I intend us to marry sometime near to your next birthday.” Moira’s half-lidded gaze widened fractionally. ‘Is he being pliable on purpose or do I truly have his affections?’ She resumed her act, swallowing down another bout of bile in her throat. His very touch made her shiver with disgust but she dare not show it. “I shall do my very best to be a good wife to you… and our children.” He froze and Moira worried that she misstepped in her ruse to gain his trust. “I’m sorry, I always imagined whomever I marry would want a family.” She quickly backtracked, blinking down at her plate with a remorseful expression. “No… I will need an heir to the estate. You’re not mistaken.”<br/>Moira said nothing to this but responded with a coy smile. They resumed their meal in silence, though his eyes were on her for the majority of it.</p><p>Moira spent the remainder of the day sticking to Charlotte’s side. Moira assisted Charlotte in her chores whenever she could, sympathetic to Charlotte’s rather dazed demeanor and broken hand. Before departing to her own home before the sun set, Charlotte bestowed Moira with a curious gift in the quiet of the ward’s bedchambers. “I don’t approve of this, Miss, but I’d rather you not fall to your death.” She whispered with a purposeful vagueness, small eyes searching the room as if she could spot someone listening in. She hardly made eye contact when she discreetly slipped a small iron key into Moira’s palm. Moira stared out the window with an air of nonchalance, though her body tingled with the thrill of where this key could lead. “I’d fancy a walk about the wing before you leave, Charlotte, if you’d please.” The two continued their act, slipping out the chamber door and peeking around the hall to be sure Magnus was not nearby. “Follow me.” Charlotte motioned with her undamaged hand, the two slipping further into the West Wing than the ward ever dared to go on her own.<br/>The governess and the ward passed many locked rooms, supposedly leading to unused and wasted space. The farther they traveled down the labyrinthian halls, the more Moira felt as if she lived within the skeleton of Magnus’ past life. <em>‘What secrets are left to unravel here? Why has he chosen to lock so much away?’</em><br/>Passing by one room in particular sent every hair on the back of her neck to stand on end. She stopped dead in her tracks, emerald orbs trailing over the details of the entrance. It seemed out of place amongst the thick layer of dust and wear decorating the rest of the hall. The grand mahogany door, adorned in thick, blackened iron as its framework and accents, seemed brand new. Near eye-level to the door was a small wooden panel, adorned with a tiny handle and fastened to the door with a sliding mechanism. Moira believed it to be a peep hole, except instead of those from within looking out, it was for those from outside looking in. A question danced around in her mind, though she dared not pay any attention to it. Her gaze shifted down to the handle and immediately her heart dropped into her stomach. A thick metal rod stretching across the width of the door lay in place of a handle or knob, obviously used as a way to keep the entrance locked from the outside. Something haunting and vile crept from the very crevices of the wooden barricade. A morbid, undeniable craving to find out just what lay beyond that eerie opening pulled the young woman towards the door. Just as her fingers grazed the tiny latch for the small sliding panel, a hand grabbed at the sleeves of her gown and dragged her away from it. “These walls hold many memories of a sordid sort. You best not go after them, Moira. ” The maid visibly shivered, tugging Moira along with her free hand.<br/>Taking enough turns to make Moira dizzy, the pair arrived at a winding stairwell. Each landing of the staircase held various crates, barrels and items left untouched for many years. In a way, this mysterious area of the wing reminded her much of the undercroft, as if he had piled everything of his life away in places he purposely took care not to look at. The two made their way down one spiral stair, stopping in front of a door that would lead to her escape. It was then Charlotte whipped around to face Moira, eyes full of uncertainty. “I’d rather see you safe, my girl. This is the servants entrance and I’m permitted to be here. You, my dear, are not. I implore you to be careful and perhaps rethink your venture altogether.”<br/>“I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. There is no other choice. I am going tonight Charlotte, and I will for many nights henceforth. I will find a way to pull his sticky fingers off my life permanently.” Moira hastened to the door, unlocking it with a quick turn of the key. “I will see you in the morning. Be safe on your way home.”<br/>Dusk descended upon the manor, casting oblong shadows that chased after the waning rays of light. Moira spent the rest evening in her red chair, watching the horizon fade into the darkness of night. She’d intended to sleep before departing but the young woman felt far too giddy with the anticipation to explore the town once more. The painful throbbing ache in her skull faded to a dull annoyance over the day. Her stomach lurched with excitement for the impending venture. It would not be long now.</p><p>“I did not expect you to come back so quickly, Mr. Ward!” Evelyn announced from behind the bar upon seeing Moira’s peculiar form skulked into the alleyway entrance of the tavern. The wistful brunette waltzed around the countertop, advancing on Moira and planting an unexpected kiss on her cheek. “Did you miss me, sir?” she asked far too loudly, locking arms with Moira and practically dragging her across the tavern. <em>‘What is it with everyone pulling me around like some limp poppet?’</em> Moira thought irritably but made no move to show her aggravation. Some heads turned and regarded the two and others did not pay any mind, far too busy with their own spirits and lurid conversations. The pair simply seemed part of the background, which Moira guessed was exactly Evelyn’s intention. She pulled Moira hard behind the bar and into the tiny storage room from the night before. Thomas took up the rear and followed them inside, closing the door swiftly. Evelyn rounded on Moira, face filled with an unexplained fury.<br/>“What did that bastard do to my mother?”</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Midnight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A reviewer on fanfiction.net let me know this chapter was a little long. Honestly, I agree soooo I split it up into two. Hope you're okay with that!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <strong>Chapter Five- Midnight</strong>
</p><p>“What?”<br/>“Your governess?”<br/>Moira nearly fainted from the shock of it. “You’re her daughter?” Evelyn was clearly becoming more and more upset at Moira’s slowness on the uptake. “ She came home looking half dead and worked up on laudanum.” Moira shifted uncomfortably under the heat of Evelyn’s glare. The barmaid exchanged a suspicious look with Thomas before continuing. “It took a lot of digging to get her to talk. You’re the ward in Magnus manor, aren’t you? What happened?”<br/>“I-”<br/>The mystified woman was at a loss for words. <em>‘What can I say? That my foolish words resulted in her punishment?’</em> Thomas seemed to sense Moira’s shock and cut in gently. “It’s her mother, girl, try to understand her anger.” He patted her shoulder reassuringly, standing quite close to her. His attempts to be comforting actually heightened Moira’s anxiety, although seeing him as a threat did coax the truth out of her.<br/>“He… he was rather cross with me. We’d been talking about my future and… he wasn’t happy with what I’d said to her. He overheard or… listened in.” Moira began, glancing between the two of them worriedly. “He attacked her, thinking that hurting her would be punishment enough but I-I tried to stop him.” Rehashing those moments made her muscles scream to move into action-- to flee before she had to relive it anymore. She anxiously rubbed at her bruised and sore throat.<br/>“He hit me and then he--” Moira could hardly bear uttering the next words to the pair. “He crushed her hand.” Evelyn stood in silence, thoughts flying through her brain at a rapid pace. Moira watched as her expression morphed from pure anger to sorrow and finally settling between the two emotions. “So she may never use that hand again because… because of you?”<br/>“Please, I’m sorry. I know it’s my fault and I feel terrible for it. I wish I could take it all away.” Moira wrapped both her hands around Evelyn’s arm, looking at her with pleading eyes. “ Your mother has always been there for me and never told a lie to me.” Evelyn flinched visibly at that statement, as if her mother’s kindness was offensive to her. “ She was the one who told me that he intended to marry me. I can’t marry that man, I can’t stand another second in that house! We discussed escaping together-- I fear for her life if she were to stay. Please, help me get her out. I can’t stop him.”<br/>Evelyn scrunched her nose, her face looking rather pinched as she took time to work out what to do. Moira took the opportunity to continue, ignoring the frantic tears spilling from the edges of her eyes.<br/>“I know of an expedition he’d planned. I’m not sure as to the nature of this venture but he’d met a strange man in the dead of night to discuss it. Who would have a meeting so late if their plan was not something of a vile nature?” Shaking her head sharply, she expected no reply and continued. “They spoke of a couple men, Captain Belroy and Hector Barbossa. I’d thought maybe these men could help us in some way. Mister Barbossa is a map charter, see? He knows of many islands in the Caribbean that most haven’t even charted yet. I thought perhaps these gentlemen could be persuaded to take your mother and I aboard under the guise of men and drop us in a port town where we could blend in. Have a new start.” Thomas cleared his throat, sinewy arms crossed over his broad chest. “We’re quite familiar with Hector and the captain. Not exactly the god-fearing type.” He gave Evelyn a pointed look, sharing some unknown knowledge between the two of them. Moira flicked her eyes between each of them, trying to decipher their silent conversation. Evelyn groaned in frustration and greeted Moira with a curt smile.<br/>“Definitely not, indeed.” She tucked her chin and fixed Moira with a penetrating stare. “His expedition is certainly not coinciding with the laws of England. Those gentlemen as you call them, are glorified picaroons. Dangerous to work with, but-”<br/>Thomas finished the sentence for her, receiving a rather irritated look from Evelyn. “ They’d negotiate, if you have the odds tipped in their favor.”<br/>An infinitesimal shred of hope grew in Moira’s chest as she listened to the two. With her entire being, she hoped that Evelyn would find it in her heart to help her, especially now that her mother was in the mix. Moira observed the young barmaid and instantly felt rather stupid. She could see Charlotte in Evelyn’s eyes and wispy hair-- even in the way her mouth curled in concentration. Evelyn just had a rather confident air about her, as opposed to her mother. <em>‘It seems odd they’re cut from the same cloth. Even odder that Charlotte be the mother with how meek she is.’</em> Curiosity about the dynamics of their family and their past pulled at Moira. ‘How did you become so confident when your mother is such a quiet thing?’ Moira thought, chewing on her lip quizzically. “We’ll help you. But let me tell you this, I want him dead, Miss Ward. You hear me? Dead. You figure that into your plans and you have a deal. If not, well, I’ll be shipping my mother far from here before he can hurt her again.”<br/>Moira nodded simply, a foreboding grimace plastered over her face.<br/><em>‘I want him dead too.’</em></p><p>The three settled into quiet discussion and drink, Evelyn often taking breaks to serve some of the customers when the other server had her hands far too full. The spirits poured into Moira’s cup eased her nerves enough to keep her hands from shaking, though the room did seem a little dizzying after the third pour.<br/>“So, I figure it’d be best if we know what type of expedition he’s hired them for. You need to find some evidence of what exactly they are trading. Any idea where it’d be?” Evelyn formulated, toying with the top of her dress absently.<br/>“His study perhaps, or his room.” Moira immediately downed the remainder of her drink, spluttering as she usually did. Her antics earned her a chuckle from Thomas, who settled by the door to be sure they’d not have any unexpected visitors. “You sure you’re up to the task, lass?” he asked from across the room, giving her a rather sympathetic look one would not expect from such a stoic man. “Yes, yes I am.” Moira fiddled with her cup, looking up at the man with a nervous smile. “Just a little scared is all.”<br/>Evelyn scoffed at the admittance of fear and rolled her eyes. “ Anyway, you said there’s a rather large supply of forgotten valuables in the undercroft, right?”<br/>“Yes, getting down there is easy enough. I can find a few trinkets to give them as incentive to bring us on board. I’ll save a few to give after we’ve arrived safely to… to… where are we going?”<br/>“We’ll have to come up with that part of the plan once we know their bearings.”<br/>“Right… in the meantime, do you two think you could come up with some information on Mister Barbossa and Captain Belroy? Perhaps something we can use as leverage?”<br/>“Whatever illegality they’re partaking in may be enough leverage, but I’m sure we could dig up a few things.”<br/>“I just want to know what makes them tick-- whatever I can use to persuade them.”<br/>“That’s simple enough, pretty women, drink and money.” Thomas gave Evelyn and Moira both a look that insinuated he was speaking of them. Evelyn rolled her eyes severely and Moira’s face flushed a bright pink. “Use it to your advantage.” He shrugged off their reactions, smiling smugly.<br/>“Thomas, do you think we could come across a blade or two for Miss Ward?” Moira’s eyes flew open and she blinked wildly at the two. “We agreed the man would have to die, did we not?” Evelyn was now looking at Moira with a challenging expression.<br/>“You want me to do it? I’ve not ever wielded a blade, how could I best a master swordsman?”<br/>Evelyn sighed and stared down at the table, thinking for a moment. “Does he really need to die? He isn’t going to find us in the New World, especially if his name is tied to a crime.” Thomas flicked his hand out and shook his head, showing his disdain for Evelyn’s brash and cantankerous attitude. “ He hurt my mother.” she protested through gritted teeth, eyeing him dangerously. Thomas pushed himself off the wall and crouched in front of Evelyn. He put his hands on her knees and looked her dead in the eye. “Aye, I know. But at the expense of the girl?” Thomas leaned in closer, pressing a chaste kiss to Evelyn’s forehead. She leaned into, letting her eyes slip closed for a moment. Moira shifted uncomfortably in her seat and averted her eyes. “You’re a smart lass, but killing a lord? That’s the sort of attention we don’t need. What we do need… is Moira. She’s our inside lady. If you send her on a suicide mission, it’ll be far more difficult to save your mum.”<br/>“Well we’re going with them, aren’t we? You think Magnus won’t search the seven seas, looking for his prized possession?” Evelyn motioned to Moira, never taking her eyes off of Thomas. He seemed to be the only thing holding her together.<br/>“You’re coming with us?”<br/>Evelyn crossed her arms and quirked a brow in her usual skeptical manner. “You really think I’d stay here while my mother sailed across the ocean?”<br/>“ ‘Course we are coming with you.”<br/>Moira tilted her head, trying to decipher what exactly was going on between the two. She gingerly took the half empty bottle of Scottish whiskey and poured it into her cup, a strange grimace on her face. <em>‘What holds them together so tightly? Why would both of them be so eager to leave their lives behind? Evelyn’s reason for leaving makes sense but what’s Thomas’?’</em><br/>She cleared her throat and gave an understanding nod. “Right then.” She took another swig of the fire drink, feeling its warmth flood her belly and heat her cheeks. Moira slapped both hands on her knees and stood up. “I’ll start with finding any documentation of his endeavors and I’ll pilfer a few items. You two dig up whatever information you can on the map charter and the captain.”<br/>She started towards the door, stumbling slightly from the amount of drink she ingested. “ It’s getting rather late and I don’t want to be caught. I’ll see you the next chance I can get out.”<br/>“Aye. Be careful, Miss Ward. I won’t be too pleased if I find my mother is injured further.” Evelyn warned, arms still tightly crossed and her dark eyes glaring daggers at Moira.<br/>‘Wonderful, she hates me.’ she thought, sparing them one last look before walking out of the storage room.</p><p> </p><p>Many nights followed the same timeline, Moira would wait until she was certain Magnus would not stir-- usually being near midnight that she decided it was safe-- then she would pull on her worn male disguise and head for the tavern. She’d taken a liking to the way alcohol soothed her nerves and let her speak uninhibited. Each night she spent with Evelyn and Thomas, she’d drink a little more and a little more, always leaving a couple hours before the break of dawn with a stumble in her walk. A few times she’d met the men who attacked her on her first night out, but Thomas always seemed to appear in the right moments before things could get too ugly. She’d been knicked and bruised from time to time and Thomas would haul her over his shoulder and take her into the tavern to get cleaned up by Evelyn. Their planning continued, although they could only get so far with such little information to work with. Fear unfurled itself upon Moira whenever she thought of their impending plan-- believing that not having it all figured out would certainly end in their demise.<br/>Slipping into the undercroft proved simple enough for Moira, as she had grown accustomed to sneaking around in the shadow of night. She’d snatched a variety of gems and women’s jewelry that littered the deepest depths of the undercroft’s dusty remains. Moira found it curious that he’d have such feminine trinkets locked away and forgotten-- one in particular she’d grown so attached to that she’d thought to keep it for herself. It was a simple little thing; an oval, golden locket pendant with a delicate chain that draped down between her breasts. The night she found it in the undercroft, she unlocked the small thing and stared at what lay inside for near an hour. “Oliver.” Was all that she could say as she gazed upon the image of the tiny boy with soft silver eyes and pinkened youthful cheeks. Something drew her to him-- a paralysing notion that there was one that came before her. <em>‘What happened to you, little one?’</em> She thought over and over-- lying awake even as dawn broke with the thought of him. She spent much of her time in the manor trying to unfold the mystery of Magnus’ life and that spirit of inquiry grew into a lifeline for her. There was someone before her. Someone that may have survived a parting from Magnus Manor.</p><p>In the lull of a drinking session, when Thomas and Moira were left alone in the small storage room, Moira couldn’t help but poke around for more information about her governess and the daughter she never spoke of.<br/>“I never would’ve thought Miss Blackwood would be related to Char--my governess. She’s just so…”<br/>“Bull-headed?” Thomas finished, a crooked smirk resting on his face. He sat beside Moira on a wooden crate he seemed far too big for, leaning his weight onto one knee with an arm propping his head up. Moira gave him a sheepish smile but said nothing in return. “Evelyn takes after her father, Miss Ward. She’s a fiery one, always been. I s’pose she feels an obligation to it-- seein’ as her mum’s a proper wallflower. She’s very protective of her mum. Ever since her father abandoned them, Evelyn’s tried her best to help her with the living expenses too.”<br/>Moira hummed, nodding slowly while she swallowed a swig of whiskey. It felt like she’d swallowed her hearth each time she drank it, but something about the impropriety of it kept her sipping at the spirit. She could see Charlotte and Evelyn’s life play out in her mind’s eye, the two of them alone in the world and Evelyn trying to play the bodyguard to all the insults and attacks against Charlotte’s character for her husband’s departure. “Why does she hate me so?”<br/>Thomas sighed and looked at the drink in Moira’s hand, good-natured humor still dancing in his eyes. “She doesn’t hate you, lass. She’s angry and she wants to protect her mum. If anything, she’s a wee bit jealous that you spend so much time with her.”<br/>“Jealous?”<br/>“Well, think about it, girl! You’ve been raised by her mum. Evie just got the scraps of her mother’s attention after taking care of you. Look at where she is.” He motioned to the bottles lining the small room, leaning back slightly.<br/>“In a tavern?”<br/>“Aye, in a tavern.”<br/>“What’s wrong with working in a tavern?” He blinked at her incredulously, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You really don’t know much about the world, do ya lass?” He leaned in close, resting both muscular forearms on the makeshift table. “A woman’s reputation can dictate every opportunity she gets. Havin’ Evie’s father leave them like that, it ruined her mum’s reputation. If her own husband didn’t want ‘er, whose to say anyone else would? Gettin’ a steady income is a hard thing to come by when no one wants t’ hire you. You tack on your own daughter workin’ in a tavern, forget about looking for a proper job.” Moira was clearly missing the point, so he rolled his eyes humorously and continued. “ A woman is considered a strumpet if she works in a tavern, lass. Their reputation is shattered here and Charlotte doesn’t approve much of Evelyn’s efforts.” The ward nodded slowly in understanding, a sympathetic look overcoming her soft face. <em>‘Not only have I taken away her mother’s attention-- but Evelyn has to deal with rejection by her own kin.’ Moira</em> looked down at her bandaged, fidgeting hands. She felt guilty, in a way, although she knew it wasn’t her fault that Charlotte spent more time with her. It did however give her more incentive to get Magnus’ suffocating grip off of Charlotte. “The only reason why Charlotte got the job at Magnus’ is simply because nobody wanted to work for ‘im.”<br/>Moira perked up at the mention of Magnus, surprised that Thomas seemed to know exactly where her mind wandered off to. “Why does no one want to work for him?”<br/>“I don’t figure you need me to tell you that the man’s mad. I think you’d know better than most.”<br/>She gave another nod, prying her eyes off the drink and looking at the burly man in front of her. Everytime she talked to him, it seemed her mind would unfold right before his observant eyes.<br/>“Things changed for ol’ Magnus when his wife disappeared. He played the heartbroken act well, but I don’t buy it. He owned that woman, everyone knew it and just didn’t say nothin’ about it. No, I think he’s more responsible for her disappearance than he’ll ever let on.”<br/>It’d been the first time Moira ever learned that Magnus had a wife-- let alone one that disappeared. The world felt a little bit smaller after that and the shadows she felt haunted by in Magnus manor grew into true horrors. Her thoughts went to the strange door, cleaner than the rest and locked from the outside.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Crab and The Phantom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N: This one was quite difficult for me. I had one chapter originally written out that ended up being around 8-9k words. I was trying really hard to flesh out what I envisioned, but my direction for Moira’s findings and her meetings with key characters kind of left me feeling extremely underwhelmed and cringe. This is the revamped second half of the chapter, the first already posted as Chapter Five-Midnight. I hope the new elements of the story don’t put you off, as I have an overarching plot here for Moira and some of the other OCs+ canon characters that will continue throughout the main storyline of POTC. Here are a couple of notes to take in for this chapter:</p><p>The Sloop Inn is a real place on the wharf of St. Ives, Cornwall! It was built in the 17th century and it’s to my understanding that they still use the original building from all the way back then. I figured we needed a name for this tavern she’d been visiting and it was always my intention to pull in something real world for the story. I just thought it was a cool addition to let you know about.<br/>Grobhausern is a gambling card game that originated from Germany. It was illegal in most places in the 18th century, but I imagine the late 1700s would be when it was being created and thus not really have any specific reputation. Also, I’m trying, but I haven’t had anyone to play the game with me/show me…. Soooo I don’t know if my interpretation is completely accurate.<br/>Leanabh mara= sea child in Scottish Gaelic.<br/>William Dampier was a real person; look him up if you’re curious. I found him so interesting that I actually purchased a copy of his book (yes, the book is real). The timeline matched close enough and honestly, I always wondered how Hector would have such a sudden liking for the stars in the later films ( enough to name his daughter after a constellation)… I felt like this backstory would help me fill his character out a bit more in my head. </p><p>In the next chapter, we will be exploring some DARK themes/ traumatic events that will ultimately shape the OCs of the story. I felt the need to warn you now, as we are entering a ‘horror’ phase of the story in this chapter. </p><p>Also, my updates might take a bit to come out. We’re currently getting my grandma situated in a nursing home, setting up an estate sale and eventually selling her house. Hopefully, it’ll be over by the end of this month, buuuutt we’ll see. Please be patient with me! I promise I won’t be giving up on this story.</p><p>Please feel free to leave any positive feedback or constructive criticism. This fanfic is purely for fun, but I am utilizing it to hone whatever semblance of writing skill I have. I do truly want/need some critiques, so I know what to work on in the future/ for future stories.<br/>Thank you so much for reading. I love all of you for spending some time with me in my weird daydreams, haha. See you in the next one!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <span>The drone of tired sailors rolled in with the waves and the salty air whispered over her skin with an icy breath. The moon barely spared the wharf of St. Ive’s any light, crowded out by the heavy winter clouds. Her birthday drew closer, as well as the potential of Barbossa and Belroy’s arrival.  The year flew by, time slipping by her faster than she could grasp at. She knew her plan of escape was closer than she’d like. The fear of being caught would not let her rest in the waning days when the sun settled early and the chill of winter edged in. Instead, she spent much of the time sitting on the edge of docks after a few drinks in The Sloop Inn, whiling away the night until she had no other option than to return home.</span>
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  <span>Tonight, however, she went straight to the docks before any drinks were had. Moira did not care that shivers took hold of her body nor did she care that someone may approach her, being a lone ‘boy’ on the wharf. The sea called her as it did many times before and she listened. Kicking her feet back and forth over the edge, she lost herself in the calming murmurs of Calypso’s realm.  </span>
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  <span>“Hey you blithering ratbag! Care for a swim?” The familiar gruff voice of a man yanked her out of her trance. She whipped around to see none other than the same miserable drunkard who assaulted her many nights prior. Before Moira could react, the man slammed his foot into her side and she plunged into the freezing ocean waters. Immediately, her muscles tensed strongly against the cold and adrenaline surged through her. Opening her eyes to get her bearings, Moira ignored the sting of the salt and the screams of her lungs. She tread into the depths until she waded underneath the docks, putting as much space between her and the drunkard as she could. Upon surfacing, Moira spluttered and coughed, trying to regain her breath. Her dark locks plastered cold to her cheeks, let loose by her fall.  She'd have to head straight home now that her disguise was soaked and the cold would set into her bones dangerously fast. </span>
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    <span>‘I swear that man will get what’s coming to him one day.’ </span>
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  <span>Moira clutched onto the wooden beams holding the dock solidly in the sand, hoping that the man would no longer be there when she decided to climb out of the ocean again. A scuttling sound and skittering movement gave her a start. Her head whipped around in the direction of the sound and her brows furrowed when she found nothing. Another scuttle and a tiny, shifting silhouette on the crossed beams caught her eye. Moira floated towards it, using the pillars to carry her quickly towards the shadow. Upon further inspection, she found it to be a lone white crab scampering up and down the slopes of the crossed beams. Moira’s head tilted curiously, a vivid familiarity washing over her while she shivered there. This was the same ghostly crustacean that visited her the day her mother lost herself in the sea.  “Calypso?” Moira felt foolish saying it out loud now, after so many years separating her from the sea. What would a sea goddess want from her? </span>
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    <span>‘It’s not like every bloody white crab would be her anyway.’ </span>
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  <span>She chuckled to herself through jittering teeth, moving towards the edge of the dock in order to find a way out of the water. A persistent clack and a quicker clambering stopped her in her tracks. Moira turned, seeing the ghost crab clapping its claws furiously at her and rushing over the beams. It twirled around, it’s beady little eyes staring at her. “It is you.” she whispered with a mixture of excitement and suspicion. Seeming to notice that it captivated her attention, the white animal clacked twice and promptly hopped into the water. Moira dove down, following after the tiny thing, a pearly shell the only sign of its existence while it plunged to the bottom of the shallows.</span>
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  <span> Once Moira and her newfound companion reached the bottom, the slow, soft sound of clacking continued. She blinked under the water, squinting her eyes while she focused on the little white shell of the crustacean.  Moira curled her knees towards her chest to stay anchored near the bottom of the sea. The gold locket tucked in her bindings slipped out and danced in front of her eerily. Without prompting, it opened on its own volition, revealing the sodden face of Oliver. She stared blearily at it with a hint of sadness, her fingers successfully grabbing the small pendant. </span>
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    <span>‘I hope it dries out well enough. I don’t want to lose his face.’</span>
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  <span> Pulling it to her chest, she looked down to the crab slapping its claws. Moira reached down, encircling the small thing with her hands and lifting it to her face. A dim light grew from the creature, illuminating Moira’s face. </span>
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    <span>‘Every locked door opens, some are waiting for the one who finds the right key.’ </span>
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  <span>A voice with an accent she’d never heard before echoed in her mind, causing Moira to nearly lose her breath beneath the waves. </span>
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    <span>‘Who are you?’ </span>
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    <span>‘You need to hear her, leanabh mara. Follow her whispers and she will set you free. Turn away from her and you’ll become her.’ </span>
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  <span>The crab proceeded to clap a claw around her thumb, causing her to cry out and take a swallow of water. She shook her hand furiously, swinging the crab off into the abyss before heading for the surface.</span>
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  <span>“Mister Ward!” </span>
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  <span>She spat out a stream of salty water, coughing some from her lungs and shuddering at the taste. Taking in gulps of air, Moira whipped around to see Thomas standing by the edge of the dock, hastening to her rescue. She swam towards him as he leaned down, arms wide open to help her. Locking each other’s wrists in a grip, he hoisted her out of the ocean easily. She flopped onto the dock, spluttering and breathless. Thomas quickly pulled his own worn frock coat off and wrapped her up in an attempt to fight off the cold and hide her gender from onlookers. Moira lifted her head to see a merchant schooner dropping anchor near the pier. “ I thought you bloody drowned.” he whispered to her, though she was far too distracted to reply. </span>
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  <span>“Ey, he’s alright! Little water won’t hurt none.” her bearded offender spoke up, apparently having stood by the docks after knocking Moira into the water. Thomas immediately rounded on the man, stepping in front of Moira who was trying to hide her wild long hair. She looked hopefully over the edge of the dock, only to see her hair scarf was now floating out towards sea. Not being a man of many words, Thomas responded with a sucker punch to the man’s face. He crumpled to the ground, holding his face and spitting out a few of his remaining teeth. “I’ll kill ye for that!” Moira sprang to her feet and sidestepped around Thomas, advancing on the drunkard. “No, you won’t, you yeasty codpiece!” she sneered, shifting her weight to her left leg and kicking him square in the face with her right. He flopped onto his back and lay motionless, clearly knocked silly by the second strike. Thomas pulled Moira away, knelt down and checked the man’s pulse. “He’s still breathing.” he proclaimed, standing up and staring at Moira, wide-eyed. “Bloody hell, girl. What was that?” </span>
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  <span>Moira shrugged at Thomas with a sheepish smile. He shook his head, before his steely gaze settled on something behind her. Moira peered over her shoulder to see the crew unloading the now anchored schooner, while two well dressed men stepped off the ship and made their way down the pier. One teetered near a head taller than Moira and had the walk of a man with purpose, his dark coat ruffling behind him as he strode toward The Sloop Inn. The second, though dressed much finer than the first and donned in a feathered bicorn hat fit for a captain, swaggered behind the first man with a significantly shorter frame. “That be them.” Thomas said simply, nodding as the two acknowledged the presence of Moira and the bull of a man next to her. She caught the glint of azure from the first man as he regarded her, his brows lowering a fraction when she nodded at him. They watched as the men headed into the tavern, not yet realizing they were both holding their breath. “ That bloke is bloody intimidating.” Thomas remarked, placing a hand on the small of Moira’s back and guiding her toward the tavern. </span>
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  <span>They went through the alley entrance and slipped into the storage room relatively unnoticed, although Evelyn hastened after them. “I really shouldn’t stay much longer.” Moira mumbled nervously, knowing her disguise was no longer in tact. “Well, ye can’t be going back with dripping clothes and yer hair hanging ‘round yer face.” </span>
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  <span>“What happened?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stupid git that’s been bothering her thought it smart to throw her in the water.” Thomas gestured to Moira, looking rather appalled. “ We handled him though, didn’t we Miss Ward?” A proud smirk settled on his face and Moira flushed red at his words. Evelyn looked between the two and let out a laugh of incredulity. “Right then. Well, give me your coat. I’ll get something to dry your hair. You’ll have to sit out by the hearth.” Moira looked as if she had swallowed a frog and tried to decline the offer, only to be cut short by Evelyn. “I’ll not hear another word of it. You’ll catch sick if you go back now. Don’t you think he’d be a little suspicious of you looking like a washed up blowzabella and reeking of sea water?”  With a defeated sigh, Moira handed Thomas’ oversized coat back to him and pulled off her own dirty brown one. “I’ll get you a nightcap, it’ll warm you right quick. Thomas, if you would.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>After squeezing her clothes out the best she could, drying her hair and shoving it under a hat Thomas let her borrow, Moira slinked into the main room of the tavern. Thomas guided her to the hearth, pulling up a chair and putting his coat over her once more before heading to help Evelyn with a group of unruly patrons. She sat shivering with the fire gleaming in her eyes. Sipping at her drink Evelyn had given her, Moira sighed in relief of being alone for the moment. </span><em><span>‘What did that voice mean? Was it truly Calypso contacting me?’ </span></em><span>She felt mad, hearing unfamiliar voices that riddled in her head under the depths. Moira had an inkling of what the riddle meant, but who was </span><em><span>she </span></em><span>that</span> <span>the voice mentioned? The vision of the locked room danced around in her mind’s eyes, as well as Oliver’s young visage. It felt like the answers danced at the edges of her mind, toying with her. </span><em><span>‘Magnus had a wife… but she’s long gone. Who else would I be following in the manor? Charlotte?’ </span></em><span>That idea seemed wrong, Moira knew that if she were to follow Charlotte’s advice, she’d likely never leave the manor. </span><em><span>‘Who then?’ </span></em></p><p>
  <span>“Mind if I take a seat?” A sharp voice thick with a standard West Country accent pulled Moira from her thoughts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Why does it seem like someone always catches me off guard like that?’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Moira blinked up at none other than the tall man who stepped off the newest vessel. He had a palpable domineering aura to him, as if his very presence would cause the room to collapse into submission if he so wished it. His azure orbs were like looking into the eye of an ocean storm. His stare was so focused and powerful that it made Moira want to sink under the nearest table.  He looked to be in his early thirties and well kept, yet slightly weathered by his time on the sea. One distinctive line ran between his thick brows, solidifying his stern exterior. His hair was auburn and thick like a lion’s mane, although he had tamed into a tight tail at the nape of his neck. Moira gulped and quickly looked away when she realized she had fallen into a silent staring contest with the man, who had taken a seat without being granted permission. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The man took a long drink of ale and wiped the droplets from his mustache. “Ye have a name?” he asked, his gaze wearing away at her. Moira clasped the coat around her a little tighter and met his eyes once more. “Oliver Ward.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Do you often take midnight swims in the middle of the winter, Oliver?” he asked, intrigue dancing in his piercing stare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I fell.” she stated simply, turning away and focusing on the flames. Under the oversized coat, Moira toyed with her locket nervously. She knew the man was either the map charter or the captain, though she couldn’t quite figure as to which one. He had the mannerisms of a stoic leader, yet the other was dressed for the part. Moira scanned the room, looking for the gaudy hat of the other man. Her eyes landed on Evelyn now leaning over the table, sliding a drink over and making small talk with the stout man. A glint of mischief danced in his hazel eyes while he drank in Evelyn’s form. He pulled off his hat and hung it on his chair lazily, leaning back to watch her fully while the barmaid poured him a pint of ale. Moira grimaced at the obvious sign of lust, but she could see from a distance that Evelyn was putting on a convincing show of enjoying it by her carefree smile and exuberant conversation. Despite being labeled </span>
  <em>
    <span>glorified picaroons</span>
  </em>
  <span> by Evelyn, Moira could see a regality and intelligence in both men. The pair of them would be quite formidable to discuss the logistics of their escape. Moira had a worrying feeling starting to sink into her guts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yer hair’s a bit long for a gent, is it not?” Moira’s sharp eyes darted back to her visitor and she tried to hide any semblance of nervousness exuding from her person. “Bit too long.” The man chuckled keenly, leaning back in the seat and propping one ankle atop the opposite knee. A brief silence befell them while Moira worked out what her next step should be. They were already off to a bad start-- neither of the voyagers were meant to know her gender nor her face. Not yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seemingly unphased by her lack of response, the man stared into the fire and for a moment she could see the tiredness weighing heavily on him. Moira wondered when he slept last, considering their voyage likely took months. “You seem tired.” she mumbled, taking another drink and pulling her knees to her chest. “There’s some rooms upstairs, I’m sure the innkeeper would be happy to accommodate your lodgings.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Aye. It’s been a long trek.” He scratched at his scalp and sighed softly, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment. He made no motion to move from his spot, seeming astute on remaining in her presence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So, what brings you into port? Most men try to run away from home on a ship, not run towards it.” Moira rested her chin on her knee and kept her eyes trained on the man.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And ye think this is my home, do ya?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You’ve got the accent, Mister--?” She looked at him expectantly, hoping he’d reveal who her visitor was. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“So, are you ready to tell me yer real name, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Miss</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He gave her a sidelong glance that indicated he wouldn’t be revealing any information till she relented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moira bit her lip and looked away, knowing it’d be useless to hide her identity. He’d seen her on the docks, soaked to the bone and hair dripping to her waist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss Ward will do.” She tutted, cursing herself for not being more careful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hummed and smirked at her, stroking his auburn beard. “So why is such a fine woman dressed in these laddish rags?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Moira gulped some of her drink and spluttered more so at his comment than the alcohol, avoiding his eyes and sinking in her chair. He seemed to notice the change in her demeanor and a grin swept over his wide mouth. “Why are you so interested in knowing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shuffling sound caused her to peer at him again, to which she noticed he was jumbling a deck of cards. “Ye care to play?” he drawled, glancing at her amusedly and blatantly ignoring her question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moira eyed the cards suspiciously. “What game?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grobhausern. A vying game.” Moira scrunched her nose at the name. There was no way she’d be able to pronounce that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what are we vying for? I don’t have any money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Information. Seein’ as neither of us are keen on sharing, I thought this’d make things more interesting. ” The man retorted, leaning toward her with a smooth grin and chin angled slightly away from her. Moira nibbled on her bottom lip nervously. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘If I say yes, he may find out more than I’d want him to… but this may be the only way to find out more about him… but I could simply refuse to answer anything too revealing.’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Moira lifted herself from her seat and reached for the table behind them. She pulled it between them, careful not to tip the rustling candle holders over and settled in her chair across from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on then. Teach me how to play.” she obliged, motioning for him to pull up his seat while she scooted to the table. His mouth curved into a mirthful smile. Moira let out a quiet snicker when his reserved enthusiasm got the better of him and he pulled his chair up far too quickly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dealer’s the first bet.” He stated, shuffling the cards and never taking his cunning eyes from her. “ We each get two cards in the first round. Aces are eleven points and the three faces are tens. Highest score wins. First round, ye can raise the stakes, match the bid or fold.” He dealt two cards to himself and then to Moira. He placed the deck on the center of the table and slipped a peek at his hand. Moira did the same, a jack and a seven staring back at her. She clasped her bandaged hands in front of her and looked to him, waiting patiently for instruction. “ My name. That’s my first wager.” Moira pursed her lips and bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from reacting outwardly. She wanted to know who it was exactly that she was talking to.  “I’ll match that.” He nodded at her with amusement, pulling two cards for himself and another two for her. “Second round, ye can raise the stakes, match the bet, pass or fold. Seein’ as it’s just the two of us, this’ll be the final round.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She added the two to her hand and glanced down at her cards. Jack of hearts, Seven of spades, Queen of hearts and two of diamonds. She thought it better to play it safe rather than divulge too much too fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pass.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth tensed and she could see the mild displeasure in his eyes. “I’ll not raise the wager either then.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The man motioned for her to show her cards. Moira dropped them on the table anxiously and he followed suit, his expression indiscernible. His hand held a king of hearts, an ace of diamonds, a nine of spades and a four of clubs. He won.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yer name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Moira. It’s Moira. But you need to keep this between us.” she whispered hastily, looking around to see if any of the patrons took notice of them. The only one she spotted was Thomas, leaning casually by the bar, glancing between them, Evelyn and the other man.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And why is that?” he inquired with an interested look. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That’s not part of my wager.” Her vulpine eyes narrowed and he only replied with a smarmy grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again!” he announced, pulling the cards to him and shuffling them up. It went on like this for a few games, both learning basic information from each other such as age and birthplace. She found out that he grew up in Devonshire and ran from an unhappy home when turned the ripe age of thirteen. He was now thirty-three, having spent two decades at sea and working his way up the ranks. He eventually gave a name, but just the first. “Hector. Ye can call me Hector, Miss.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Moira had to fight back a triumphant smile when she finally knew that she was talking to the map charter. He’d revealed he was not only a map charter, but also the Captain’s first mate. Moira found herself far more impressed with the man than before and the bubble of excitement within her to meet such an adventurer grew near impossible to contain. They continued playing, Hector seeming to enjoy her interest in him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright lass, I’ll tell you why I’ve made port here in St. Ives if I lose. If I win, ye’ll tell me why yer dressed like a bloody sea urchin. Agreed?” Hector finally declared, staring at her with a cocked brow. He was succinct in what he wanted to know yet again, and seemingly ready to reveal his own secrets. Moira bit her lip and looked down at her cards. She had a feeling that if she refused, Hector would certainly cut their conversation short. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Not good. Not good. He’s asking exactly what I don’t want him to know all the while giving me a chance to get answers from him.’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>She spent a few moments staring at the ace of spades and three of diamonds in her hand, trying to decide what to do next. “Well?” He prodded, grabbing his third pint of ale and gulping it down. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Oh to hell with it.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agreed.” Moira looked up at him with fascination and a sliver of anxiety at the prospects. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drew two cards for each of them and they immediately revealed their hands, neither willing to raise the stakes. “You bloody won again?!” Her brows furrowed in indignation and her bottom lip trembled nervously. Hector released a hearty laugh and shrugged, taking another long swig. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Best to honor the bet you lost, Moira.” Her face flushed at the use of her first name, not quite used to anyone other than Magnus and Charlotte uttering it. She placed her elbows on the table and rubbed at her eyes and forehead in a self-soothing manner. Hector kept a trained eye on her with the same quizzical brow lifted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m running from someone.” She finally admitted it, lifting her head, lacing her hands together and placing them under her chin.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And who might that be?” He pressed her quietly, leaning closer so the two were mere inches from each other.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That’s not part of the wager.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And the bandages?” Moira gave him another pointed look and he simply took a drink with a focused gaze on her. “They’re part of yer outfit.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m hiding what I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are ye always so cryptic or are you being purposely coy with me?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Moira relaxed back into her chair, shrugging nonchalantly. “No… and yes.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well, at least tell me what you’re hiding if ye won’t tell me who yer hiding from.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I answered your questions sufficiently. Tell me why you made port here and I’ll show you what I’m hiding.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hector’s cat-like eyes glowered at her sharply. “That’s not part of the wager.” He mocked and to his dismay-- or amusement-- Moira simply giggled at his antics. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Came to rest after traveling the Caribbean.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That must’ve taken months, so why is it all the way across the ocean that you decided to find respite?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ve got prettier women in Cornwall.” He gave her a salacious wink and Moira blinked at him, teetering between discomfort and bashfulness. She shook the flattery off and raised her eyebrow, mirroring his usual inquisitive expression. “You seem far too practical a man to travel all that way for pleasure.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Are ye offering?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She rolled her eyes and stifled a laugh. “Come on, Hector. Level with me here. Why are you in Cornwall? I’m curious."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright, alright. I've got business with the Lord." Moira perked up, feigning a keen interest in something she already knew. "You must be a prestigious man to be involved with royalty." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He seemed careful not to react, although Moira perceived a pleased look in his eye. "Do you often do business with many noblemen?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moira tried her damndest to conjure up a flirtatious expression (despite not knowing much about flirtation) and leaned even closer to his face. It seemed to have the desired effect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well," He tutted, peering at her through half-lidded eyes and a haughty smile finally settling on his face. "I've done business with some nobles. We're merchant marines, so I mostly do import and exports. The East India Trading Company would be the newest venture."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moira smiled and nodded, genuine intrigue rising within her. "Would you tell me a tale of your time on the sea? I never met a man of such adventure." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ye show me those hands of yours and I'll happily oblige." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh right."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moira glanced down at her hands and sighed softly. “I’ve never shown this to anyone, Hector.” she whispered shakily, her words hitting as true. The only people to have ever seen her hands were Charlotte and Magnus, both of which wanted them covered although for very different reasons. He stared down at her busied fingers while she unraveled her secrets in front of him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘They’re just my hands and yet I feel like I’m naked.’</span>
  </em>
  <span> Once finished, she looked up nervously, watching his reaction to the webbing between her fingers. “I know it’s not natural…” Moira trailed off, trying to find the words to fill the silence and finding none.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You’re a selkie?” His deep blue eyes were uncharastically wide when their gazes met. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Daughter of one. I don’t entirely know what a selkie is myself though.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“ Merfolk from the Scottish Isles. How’d ye get all the way over here?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“ Merfolk? You must be joking. My mother was a human.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“They shed their skin to come on land. Ye never knew of yer mother’s sealskin?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“N-no?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“ How did ye get here?” He asked again, seeming ten times more interested than before. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“By boat. I… can’t really share the details with you as I don’t remember much myself. The only thing I remember on the shores of Skye was my mother wading into the ocean. She left me.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“She found her sealskin and went to be with her kin.” He finished, nodding in an understanding that Moira couldn’t wrap her head around. Moira shook her head in disbelief, giving the man an affronted look. “No, she would have died out there. She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>human</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moira backed away and stood abruptly, downing the firewater in one last gulp. She bunched up her bandages in her fist and went to storm away.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I think I’ve had enough, Hector. It was nice to meet you. I--”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>His hand wrapped around her wrist and he pulled her to his side. “Stay. We won’t talk on it anymore. I’d not finished me end of the bargain anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moira stared down at him dangerously, conflicted and fighting off the urge to cry or knock his teeth in. How could one man claim to know more about her own lineage than she? ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>How could he so callously inform me that my mother wasn’t a pining lover choosing death because her husband would not return but instead someone who abandoned her own daughter for a clan of bloody mythical seals?’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, Moira knew that the conversation had to continue. She had to put her easily bruised feelings aside and focus on learning more about Hector Barbossa. This conversation would not be their last, but would certainly be the most important in gaining information from the source itself.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing heavily, she placed her empty snifter on the table and kneeled in front of him. Hector smirked luridly at the sight and Moira fought the urge to roll her eyes at him yet again. “So tell me your stories.” she muttered, leveling her gaze on him. He leaned forward, taking an unraveled bandage and unwrapped hand in his lap. Moira almost pulled away until she found he was re-wrapping her hand instead of moving it to a far too intimate region. "It was 'round yer age that I first met William Dampier, a buccaneer and a man of science." She listened intently, feeling the sensation of his callused hands brushing over her smooth skin. "He's the reason why I'm so keen on navigating. Taught me that knowin’ the world was the first step to knowin’ where you belong in it.” Moira’s gaze flitted up to him, eyes wide and brows furrowed. 
“Ye never heard of him?” Hector met her eyes with an inquisitive look. Moira shook her head, staying silent. A run-in with a buccaneer scientist was one thing, to have been taught by one was another thing entirely. 
 “He wrote a book -- A New Voyage Round the World. Anyhow, I sailed with him as his navigational apprentice for a few years shy of a decade. We were on a ship called the Cygnet with bearings for the East Indies. Our blundering lobcock of a captain did such a terrible job leading the crew, they about turned on the lot of us. We raided port towns across the East Indies with little reward, just burnin’ through our resources. Swan’s men were livin’ on a hollow belly and thirst for days. Whispers of a mutiny spread across the crew, and the threat of death crept up real close. Their starvin’ bellies had them thinking of eating that curse of a captain and the two sailing masters who came along with him.” 
Moira gulped, eyes wide and her mouth tugged into a low frown. “So what happened?” She shifted to take the pressure off her knees, leaning in with keen interest.  Hector let out a bark of a laugh and graced her with a wide smile, his hand finishing the tie on one bandage. “Well, I’m sittin’ here, aren’t I? William and I made certain the crew wouldn’t try anything. Made an example out of the quartermaster when he came barking about how we be leadin’ them astray and the like.” Hector paused, watching Moira’s expression shift between horror and morbid curiosity. He seemed satisfied by her intrigue and continued, giving her just a bit more to gnaw on. “ Had the lot of them ready to string us up and bleed us like pigs. Instead, Dampier and I attacked. On a ship full of scallywags and murderin’ folk, it’s kill or be killed. Had six men trying to stab at me that day. S’why I got these scars on me face.” He motioned to his right cheek, which bared a white line cut down from his eye to just below his nose. It gave him the appearance of a threatening, violent man, although so far he seemed oddly soft toward Moira. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Is it his want for pleasurable company, his exhaustion or the ale that keeps him so tame?’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Absentmindedly, she reached for her own scar etched into her right cheek. Hector’s ocean blues followed her free hand, curiously observing the markings on her pale face. He kept busy wrapping her other hand with the last bandage.</span>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span>“I skewered and shivved my way to the quartermaster and the damned captain wrung his hands like the bloody coward he is. Dampier was onto me plan and we both took the quartermaster in hand and beat ‘im near to death. Offered him to make peace with the crew. In the end, they ate the bloody quartermaster and turned mutinous. Sent slovenly Swan to an island along with a few dozen other men who were none too keen on sleepin’ next to cannibals.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“My god, Hector. So you’re…. You’re a pirate?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Ha! No, I’m a merchant sailor. After the book, Dampier and I were pardoned. The man negotiated his way into captaining a warship and a sizable crew. He went off to travel the world a second time and I’m findin’ my own way now. Plan to be captain of me own ship soon enough.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Silence fell over the pair and Moira couldn’t help but watch in wonder of the man in front of her. A large part of her considered him cold and threatening, prone to violence and someone to keep well enough away from. Yet, Moira only found herself drawn into his tales and his personality more-- into the adventures that awaited him and perhaps even her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “What of yer scars, how did you get them?” Hector tended to be the first to break any silence, Moira noticed. She caught herself wrapped up in staring at the man blankly and flushed a deep red. His question left her feeling a bit vulnerable and uncomfortable, so she slid her hand from his lap and plopped back into her chair again. “ Well…”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She trailed off once more, staring into the flames. Moira tried to fight off the memory of that night, the pain she felt and the guilt that hollowed her out. “If I’d not acted so brashly, it never would’ve happened. She wouldn’t have…” She cleared her throat, blinking the image of Charlotte’s pitiful face and immobile hand from her mind. That reality would be there to greet her in the morning, not tonight. “I fell.” She finally settled on, turning to look at her companion. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That’s yer answer to everything, is it?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I suppose it is.” The world seemed to blur at the edges when she looked at him-- she certainly had a bit too much to drink tonight. Hoping to steer the conversation away from her, she asked, “ So, this book of his. Where can I get my hands on it? Are you in it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I am. In fact, I make a point to keep it in me possession-” Hector stuck a hand in the recesses of his black coat. “-here it is.” He pulled out a worn, leatherbound book. He slid it across the table and Moira’s hands immediately traced the cover before she flipped it open. Inside, her eyes fell upon a folded piece of paper connected to the spine. She opened it and there she saw a detailed map of the world, illustrated in its original ink. Her emerald orbs grew impossibly wide and she blinked back up at Hector in disbelief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ye best promise to return this to me before the end of the month. It’s the draft before he published it.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Are you sure you want me to borrow this?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Dead certain.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Ye kept me in good company and yer keen to learn like I was. If ye don’t return it, I’ll come lookin’ for ye and I know who to ask first.” Hector made a point to nod his head at Thomas, who was doing a rather bad job at pretending not to watch the pair. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You’ll be in port for a month you said?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Aye.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Then I imagine you’ve not seen the last of me, Hector. I’ll return it as soon as I’ve finished. Will you make a promise for me?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Depends on the promise.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Will you keep my identity a secret for now? I will repay you for your silence.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Hector cocked a brow and raised his chin slightly at the hint of reward. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Just what are ye runnin’ from?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’ll tell you in time. Just not now.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“On me honor, lass, I’ll keep yer secrets.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Brilliant.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The walk back to the manor was anything but silent, much to Moira’s dismay, what with Thomas’ rambling questions. He stubbornly insisted on escorting her home, convinced that ‘someone’ may find her in her vulnerable state and take advantage. Moira didn’t need to pry to know that Thomas feared Hector would come after her. Instead, she told Thomas some of what she learned about his character. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“For the fifth time, he’s not following us.” Moira groaned when Thomas nearly stumbled into the gates to the manor while looking over his shoulder. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You can’t be certain. The man is bloody--”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Intelligent enough not to go prying when he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>that he has my hand in his pocket.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Wha-? You stuck your hand in hi--” Moira stopped him abruptly, clapping her hands on his wide shoulders.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Dear god, no! The book, you silly man. He wants it back, it’s obviously of some value to him </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>he told me quite a revealing experience.”  She chuckled at his antics, trying to bite back her irritability. She knew her ire was simply due to the overwhelming amount of events that transpired, the late hour and her woozy walk. “Will you relay my story to Miss Blackwood? I’ll come ‘round next chance I get and perhaps we can talk in more detail then.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Aye, Miss Ward. I s’pose we can talk on it later.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Good, now will you get out of here before we both get caught?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Thomas nodded in understanding, a playful smirk lining his lips. Moira huffed at him irritably, though she offered a smile just the same. Too much happened in the span of a few hours to even begin to process. Her mind felt fuzzy, her step stumbling and the only thing on her mind was her bed. “See you t’morrow, Miss Ward. Be careful on your way in.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I always am.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Slipping through the West Wing servants' entrance, Moira couldn’t help but recall the strange words that came to her in the ocean’s depths. Or was it her head that fabricated such a riddle and voice? </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Who exactly am I supposed to not become?’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>She wondered, trudging down the extraordinarily dark hall as silent as a mouse. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘How am I supposed to follow her if I don’t even know who </span>
  </em>
  <span>she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is?’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>A hot tingling in her chest sent a prickle of goosebumps up her spine. Moira gulped, praying it wasn’t the stirrings of a vomiting episode coming on while she was in the midst of sneaking back to her room. Another prickle and the world seemed to whirl around her. The next thing she knew, she was standing in front of the locked room with a burning sensation between her breasts. Moira looked down and dug her hand into her shirt, immediately finding the culprit. The locket burned hot against her skin and yet it felt icy at first touch. She fished it out, brows furrowed and held it in front of her face. Glowing the familiar white light she saw underwater, Moira couldn’t help but sputter in confusion. She dropped it from hand to hand, trying to keep the painful heat of the trinket under control. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually, she ripped it off and threw it at the door, cursing herself at the light clattering when it hit the floor. Moira knelt and began padding her hands out, trying to find the blasted piece of jewelry. Her fingers brushed over it, this time the locket searing hot. She bounced it in her bandaged hand once more, finding her balance in the dark with the other. Her free hand slid up the locked door, using the heavy bar in front to hoist herself to her feet. The locket gleamed brighter than before, illuminating her face and the space in front of her. Once she finally stood, Moira found herself staring into the abyss of the locked room. The sliding contraption that hid the peephole was left wide open. Moira kept bouncing the locket from one hand to the other, her face stricken with confusion.  A foul odor wafted from the room, causing her to gag and nearly drop the locket once more. She held the burning thing in her hand, fighting back a particularly loud retch when a sound suddenly infiltrated the otherwise silent hall. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“M-so-” the hoarse, incoherent voice of a woman sent Moira stumbling backward. Her back hit the opposite wall and all she could do was stare at the door. A putrid, rotting mouth pressed against the peephole, teeth blackened and others already had fallen out. “O--ver.” It called again, followed by an anguished groan. Moira tried to listen intently, her brain befuddled with the sheer amount of information from the evening and now the strange person forming disjointed syllables. “O-llii--”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Moira heaved a breath she didn’t know she was holding and stared down at the pendant. Her hand stung where it burned into her but she found herself opening it for the second time that evening. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“O--ve-” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oliver.” Moira whispered, looking at the sodden and melting face of the boy. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>When she looked up once more, the mouth was replaced by a pair of cat-like eyes. The locket continued to illuminate her surroundings and she could make out the strain in the person’s face behind the door. “Find him.” The voice was clearer, fainter and far higher-pitched than before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Find my son.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Moira threw herself off the wall and grappled the lever to the iron bar keeping the strange woman locked inside. “Why are you in there? What did he do to you? Let me help you.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The door rattled as she slid open the bar, only for it to snap back into place, locked again. Moira blinked up at the woman in her panic only to see her staring at her with a wide, glazed-over gaze. It was as if she shifted between life and varying degrees of decomposition. The stench was overbearing and Moira’s stomach lurched again, threatening to spill its contents. “Let me help you! We can find him.” she whispered frantically, unlatching the bar once more. Instantly, it slammed back into its holding place harder than before. The mouth took over the small space once more and Moira stepped back with fright. “I don’t know what to do. How do I help you?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Ge--t out. Ss.. st--ay out.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Dead eyes fell upon her again and the woman now shook her head. She repeated herself, this time pounding on the door with a booming voice. “ St---ay out! Ge--t out!” Over and over, she screeched at Moira with a voice that hardly sounded human. Moira’s flesh crawled with each bang on the door, her fear torn between being caught by Magnus and the threat of the horror in front of her. Moira backed away, only taking her eyes off the door to look behind her. The voice continued, the pounding making her head throb. Her breath came out in strangled pants and her legs twitched with the urge to flee. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“STAY OUT! GET OUT!” </span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span>Moira couldn’t take the screaming any longer and she finally let her legs carry her away. She sprinted down the winding hall as the voice died away and the rapping at the door slowed to a dull thump. Turning the corner, Moira darted for the door to her bed chambers. Wrenching the door open, she took one last look down the hall and hurried inside.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The dark of the room left Moira fearing the blackest precipice of every corner. She busied herself with flint and steel, lighting every candle in sight. There would be no questions answered, no comfort nor sleep to soothe her tonight. The book in hand became her only source of distraction as she waited for dawn to break with bated breath. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Accordance with Whiskey and Gunpowder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sooooo, I know this took a lifetime for me to get out. But listen. Listtteeen. This is the turning point of the story. I needed to be happy with what I was putting out and where it was heading. I drank like three bottles of wine over this chapter. I rewrote parts of it close to ten times over and the whole damn thing four times over. But I did the thing, friends. I'm happy to say the story has been revamped, so hopefully for this point on I'll be pounding chapters out at rapid-fire rate. </p><p>I just wanna say if you're reading this, I freaking love you. Thank you for supporting my big dumb brain dreams. You have no idea what your feedback means to me, even if you aren't commenting and only sending out kudos. I appreciate the ever-living shit out of you. </p><p>1. I have a teaser for the next chapter that will be up soon. It's made by my close friend so pls appreciate.<br/>2. Pllllleaseeee, give me some feedback. If you hate it, let me know. It's a huge chapter. What do you think?<br/>3. This chapter and the next will be doozies. This one capped in at 12k words. The other one might be that and/or more.<br/>4. I wrote the last section at 4am. Just bare that in mind.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <b>
    
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Chapter Seven- Accordance with Whiskey and Gunpowder</b>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p><span>The early sunrise peeked through the sparse trees dotting the courtyard. The gleaming orbs set the manor aglow with vibrant hues of purple, fire-orange and gold. Every shadowy corner of the ward’s bedchamber brightened, rousing the exhausted girl from an involuntary sleep. She spent the night curled tight in her chair, hearth blazing as high as it could go and nose buried in an explorer’s handwritten memoir. Paranoia often got the better of Moira in the dark, and she would scan the room for any signs of ghostly figures that lay in wait for her. Even still, her whiskey-pickled brain and severely exhausted body forced her eyes to close. The book lay in her lap, left open. Rubbing the sleep from her swollen eyes, Moira blinked hazily as the room came into focus. “Thank goodness… it’s morning.” she whispered, letting out a yawn and stretching her arms and legs out in the chair. Her room felt far too warm now, the lively hearth still going strong from the last time she added a log to it. Moira placed her bare feet on the cold floor and stood, her muscles protesting and head throbbing. She felt heavy and weak, as if any slight movement would leave her breathless. Stepping over to the window, the ward unlatched the window and let the chilly morning air in. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>No matter how many times the events of the night cycled through her exhausted brain, it all remained unfathomable to her. </span><em><span>‘Who was that woman? Was she truly Oliver’s mother? How did she end up in the locked room?’ </span></em><span>She thought, smoothing her hands over the matted mess of her hair and lifting her arms overhead to enliven her form.  ‘</span><em><span>Is she alive or dead? How had I not noticed her before?’ </span></em><span>Moira looped through the many questions in her head with no relief of an answer to follow. The cold breeze fanned her face, cooling her cheeks and easing the burdening ache in her head.</span><em><span><br/>
</span></em><span>Analyzing the day prior only served to multiply the questions in her mind, leaving her feeling mentally and emotionally exhausted. She sauntered to the book laying on her chair, picking it up and flipping to the page she left off on. The idea that Hector Barbossa lived through a cannibalistic, violent crew and a watery cyclone of ocean madness enlivened her just a bit more. It inspired dreams of her own adventures far away from St. Ives. William Dampier’s never-ending thirst for knowledge was equally as addictive to read and she drank up every bit of it. She was enamored with the descriptions of countless species of birds, aquatic animals and exotic plants he catalogued on his first circumnavigation. Her craving for freedom, although planted long ago, was cultivated into a ravenous hunger of a woman starved of life experience with each page.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>The clunking trot of horses pulled her gaze back out the window and there she saw a bobbing carriage with two men sitting in the passenger seats.  Moira’s brows furrowed and she stepped closer, leaning slightly out the window to make out the faces bound for the manor. The closer they came, the more Moira began to realize her grave mistake of sticking her head in clear view. A large and distinctly familiar cavalier hat donned with a single ostrich feather bobbed up and down with the carriage. Next to the hat was a man with auburn hair, the wildness of his mane bound down by a green bandana. Moira’s eyes widened in shock when the pair of intense azure eyes landed on her as the carriage-driver slowed the horses right before the arch-way. She flailed in panic and nearly catapulted out of the window, before catching herself on the sill. She flung herself away from the window and fell back onto her chair with a heavy breath, the journal flopping to the floor. Hector Barbossa came to meet Lord Magnus and now she feared he would be her undoing.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>A rap on the door startled Moira and she whirled around in a flurry to see Charlotte entering her bedchamber. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Good heavens, child. Are you alright?” Charlotte hurried to Moira, her face stricken with deep concern for the ward. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span> “Yes, yes I’m fine. I am so glad to see you.” Moira let out a laugh of relief, holding a hand against her chest in an attempt to slow her racing heartbeat. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I’d say you aren’t fine. Look at the state of you. Have you slept at all?” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“A bit, yes.” Moira reached and tossed the book onto the chair before ambling toward the governess. “I haven’t really looked at myself. Do I look that bad?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Charlotte scrunched her nose at the ward, a playful smile dancing over her mouth. “My girl, you- pardon me saying so, but--”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Yes?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“You look like you’ve been trampled by a horse.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira stared at the older woman with a blank expression, before snorting a laugh. “I fell last night.” she whispered softly, putting a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles.</span></p><p><span>“Fell?” Charlotte mouthed silently, brows knitted in concern.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“In the water.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Do you wish to worry me into an early grave?” Charlotte shook her head and gave Moira a scolding look before guiding her to the changing area.</span></p><p><span>Moira slid behind the privacy partition and busied herself with rubbing heavily scented rose perfume through her hair, trying to mask the lingering briny scent. Charlotte took a bristled brush in hand and turned the ward toward the mirror, beginning the tedious work of detangling her unruly mane.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I don’t want to worry you, Charlotte, but you know how important this is for us.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Not nearly each night, it’s not.” Charlotte kept her voice hushed in Moira’s ear, both women paranoid of Magnus eavesdropping. The governess paused, giving the young woman a tender look in the reflection.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I do understand, Miss. I just worry for you. Who knows what could happen if--”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I know. I know.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Well, I’ll not say much else on it here.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira stared at the curls in her hair that stuck together in knots while others stuck out in different directions. Her complexion was pallid and her eyes stared dully into the mirror, dragged down by lack of sleep and too much drink.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span> “I suppose I do look worse for wear.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Nothing a good washing up and powder won’t solve.” </span><span><br/>
</span><span> Charlotte handed the task of smoothing the dark mane off to Moira and hastened out of the room. She returned a few minutes later with a bowl of clean water, a bar of soap, a sponge, a cloth for her teeth and a larger linen for drying. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Here you are, Miss.”</span><span><br/>
</span><span> Moira set the bowl down on the small vanity and pulled off her shift. She sponged herself off quickly with the help of the governess, paying careful attention to her dirt-stained hands and feet. </span><em><span>‘Good lord, I hope he is a man of his word and he will know well enough to stay silent.’ </span></em><span>Her mind kept trailing back to Hector, the man she was currently at the mercy of. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Charlotte sauntered over to the wardrobe in the corner of the changing area, rustling through the silken fabrics. Moira turned to the governess, chewing on her lip worriedly. </span><span><br/>
</span><em><span>‘I hope there is a way to make for the tavern tonight. It appears I have a lot of explaining to do… if it isn’t already too late.’ </span></em><span>Moira thought, pulling on a fresh shift and wrapping her stays around her torso. She’d gotten used to doing some tasks herself, since Charlotte no longer could with only one properly working hand. She inhaled deeply one last time, tightening the corset and resigning herself to a very shallow breath for the rest of the day. Moira found herself missing the less restrictive male garb from her evenings out.</span><em><span><br/>
</span></em> <span>Charlotte pulled out one of the finest gowns Magnus’ gifted Moira recently; a soft blush colored mantua adorned with ivory lace and far too many frills. </span></p><p><span>Moira lifted a brow and tilted her head curiously. “Why such a fanciful gown?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“We’re nearing your eighteenth birthday, Moira.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira blinked at Charlotte, clearly befuddled by her words. </span></p><p><span>“Your seventeenth birthday came and went already, Miss. Do you not remember it?” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>The young girl screwed up her face in deep thought, trying to recall her last birthday. When did her timeline become so hazy?</span><span><br/>
</span> <em><span>“He wants me to prepare you for marriage. To him.” </span></em><span><br/>
</span> <span>Charlotte’s words stood out significantly among the muddled memories of each milestone birthday.  The memory of that warning made her stomach flip and her hand fly to her mouth. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I only had until my eighteenth birthday.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Charlotte heaved a sigh, motioning for Moira to continue getting dressed. The ward stepped into the dress tentatively, assisting Charlotte in pulling it up.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I can’t hold it off any longer, my dear.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“What do you mean?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Charlotte took a deep breath, her brows lifting in the center and her lips quivering. It was a strange expression that Moira saw glimpses of in Charlotte’s quick glances throughout the years. In that instant, Moira realized how quickly the manor aged her governess. The job sucked the youth out of Charlotte, her face was gaunt and hair grayed and lank. The secrets she was burdened to keep weighed her down and her shoulders slumped lower and lower. There was a hollowness in her stare that Moira swore never reflected so strongly before. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“He and I discuss how well you are doing in your studies and manners regularly. I’ve been put in charge of grooming you to be a suitable woman for him, as I told you last year.  He wanted to marry you when you were sixteen, but I convinced him you needed another year to quell your imagination. He asked about your progress when you were seventeen, but I told you what he planned and… well,  both times did not go unpunished. Now I’ve run out of excuses for you. He’s been arranging this for a long time.” Charlotte let out another heavy breath, as if the truth of the words were laborious to even mention. </span></p><p><span>It dawned on Moira what day her seventeenth birthday had been-- it was the very same day that he crushed Charlotte’s hand. She suddenly felt detached from the moment and from herself, staring down at Charlotte’s mangled hand. Moira blinked hard, trying her damndest to keep the traumatic moment from taking over her mind.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Oh god.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“He is extending his first privilege to you today. You’re to meet his last living relative on his father’s side. If all goes well, he will arrange a private wedding within the next few weeks and you must accept.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira stood there in the bountiful fabrics, feeling like a complete fool. All this time she went gallivanting around the town, Magnus spent planning his next move. What was Moira doing? She had the intention of leaving, only to find that she instead spent most of her time drinking away her worries. Now, his trap was sprung and Hector would likely be the catalyst for her demise. </span><em><span>‘Am I too late?’ </span></em><span>Moira thought, anxiety creeping up and taking its hold on her throat. Her breath quickened and she staggered back a couple steps, leaning against the wall and clutching her chest. </span></p><p><span>“You still have time, Moira.” Charlotte whispered soothingly, taking Moira into her arms. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I don’t think I can do this today.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“One day at a time, love.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Tears sprang to Moira’s eyes at Charlotte’s words. She wriggled out of the embrace and started pacing, smoothing her hands over her torso in attempts to quell her anxiety. Reality came crashing down around her, everything from the day before to this morning compounding into an unfathomable dread. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“No, no. I can’t.” She couldn’t hold back the sobs any longer, her visage twisting in a whirlwind of emotion. Anger toward Magnus kept her pacing, and the fear that this was what her life would amount to tore the tears from her. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Let’s finish getting you ready. Let’s just get through today.” Charlotte’s good hand pulled the ward behind the privacy screen. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>The touch made her skin flare into a crawling ache and Moira ripped her arm away once more. She curled into herself while her mind screamed to be alone, to be far away and out of sight.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Moira.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Please, leave me for a moment. I need to be alone.” Moira’s voice raised a few octaves while she fought off a complete breakdown. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, trying to steady herself long enough for the woman to depart. </span></p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be right outside.” Charlotte patted Moira’s shoulder gingerly and headed out of the room, closing the door with one last sympathetic look at the girl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moira stormed over to the bed and crumpled onto it heavily. She pulled a pillow to her chest and pressed her face into it, letting out an anguished, muffled scream. She closed her eyes, focusing on what it felt like underwater the night before. The silence beneath the undulating waves steadied her, drew her outside of her mind and into the moment. How cold and quiet it was in the depths with a familiar white clacking crab as her only company, until Calypso spoke to her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Calypso. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The name kept popping into her head, as a vague reminder of something she could no longer remember. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without thinking, her muffled words came out in hiccups against the pillow:</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Please help me, Calypso. Help me get out of here, I’ll do whatever you ask of me in return.”</span>
</p><p><span><br/>
</span> <span>Her eye was drawn to her small side table a few paces away from her window-side chair. Moira stood up, tears streaming and her breath shaking. The subtle click of her heeled shoes sounded off the stone walls as she sauntered over to the table. Lying there was the simple golden locket, dulled by the salt water she’d soaked in the night before. She had haphazardly thrown it on the table, not daring to give it another thought after all that transpired. Picking it up, it remained cool and strange in her hand. She hung it off two fingers and studied it, wondering what was attached to such a thing to make it grow scalding hot. </span><em><span>‘Who are you, Oliver Magnus?’ </span></em><span>Moira thought, before making her way to her bed and stuffing the locket between her mattress and bedframe. Her connection to it was still quite deep, however she couldn’t risk it being found nor another encounter with the strange and weird woman behind the locked door.</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Near a half hour later, the governess escorted Moira down the steps. The leatherbound journal slapped against Moira’s leg, hidden in her pocket kept beneath the mantua. The red in her face was powdered away to a soft pink, her eyes still swollen and heavy from her exhausted tears.  Her hand stayed on the book, her fingers tracing over the cover repeatedly to soothe her wild mind. Despite knowing that Hector may have already revealed everything to Lord Magnus, Dampier’s journal served as a boon to push her forward. In her mind, if Hector Barbossa could survive the threat of cannibalistic pirates bearing down on him and the charting master-- she could certainly survive Magnus. She had to. When she rounded the corner of the staircase, her eyes went wide when she saw none other than Hector Barbossa standing in the foyer alone.</span><em><span><br/>
</span></em> <span> Hector’s hooded eyes honed in on her in an instant. Moira grimaced at the smug expression growing on his face while he drank in her feminine garb. Murmurs from the study gave her the indication that both Magnus and Captain Belroy were occupied, and hopefully, Barbossa had not told Magnus anything yet. She leaned down, gripping the railing while she pulled off her shoes with the other hand.  She motioned for Charlotte to go back upstairs, handing the shoes to the governess. Charlotte shook her head, confused by her antics and not fully understanding what Moira intended. Moira motioned for her to leave again and pulled her skirts into her arms, hastening down the steps quietly. </span></p><p>
  <span>“What’re--” Hector began as Moira traipsed up to him, cut off by her finger pressing over his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head sharply, indicating for him to stay silent. With one last glance at the study door, Moira pulled out the book and shoved it into his hands. </span>
</p><p><span>Standing on her tip toes and leaning up to his ear, the ward whispered as quietly as she could: “Have you told him anything yet?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“No, lass. Wh--”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Her finger flew back to his mouth and she peered nervously at the door once more. “Stay silent and I will reward you handsomely. Meet me tonight at the Sloop Inn and I’ll explain everything. ”</span></p><p><span> With that, she backed away, one finger held to her lips. He scrutinized her, his expression unreadable before an arrogant smirk quirked the corner of his mouth. She turned on her heel and raced up the steps, tripping and catching herself with the rail. She rounded to the second set of steps and froze when the study door creaked. Moira’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head with fear of being found out and she spun toward the rail, glancing at Hector. His eyes widened fractionally as he looked between the study and the girl with alarm. In a last ditch effort to hide, Moira immediately threw herself off the side of the staircase; one hand clapping onto the railing while one leg vaulted over, the other following closely behind. The skirts of her dress billowed out and up behind her as she fell and the heavy fabric gave her small body enough momentum for Moira to flop unceremoniously onto the marble foyer floor. Just as Moira made impact, Hector’s mouth dropped and the book slid out of his hand, slapping on the floor with the exact timing she made impact. Belroy walked through the door first, Magnus following suit closely behind. Hector coughed abruptly as they made an appearance, slapping his chest in rapid succession. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Mister Barbossa, are you quite alright?” Magnus asked with a bewildered expression while Belroy slapped Barbossa's back in assistance. Hector shoved Belroy’s hand off and looked down at his book to which Magnus’ eyes also travelled. </span></p><p>
  <span>“I’ve just dropped me book there.” He offered an uncharacteristic sheepish smile. </span>
</p><p><span>He gathered the journal from the ground, standing up to see Magnus now staring at him with a raised brow. The Lord looked pointedly at Captain Belroy and then at Hector, his silvery eyes narrowing on the man. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“So, we’ll have a heading for Falmouth in a week, milord?” Belroy cleared his throat, trying to keep the subject off of his partner’s odd antics. </span></p><p><span>The older captain gave Hector a look of disgust and utter confusion at the impression he was giving. “Yes. I will take passage with you two. I’ll depart from Falmouth on horseback, as I’ve other things to attend to.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Do ye need anythin’ on the ship before we leave for Falmouth? It’ll take a couple weeks to sail to the other side of the country.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Just appropriate lodgings--”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Hector spared a sidelong glance at Moira who was pushing her skirts off of her head and blowing a hair from her face. She was just out of line of sight for Magnus and Belroy, but Hector decided to assist her a little further. He feigned another harsh cough into his arm, interrupting Magnus and irritating Belroy even further. He motioned silently to the main entrance, doubling over with a wheeze.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Fresh air.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Oh, oh yes.” Magnus guided the pair out of the main entrance to continue their discussion, shutting the door behind him with a click. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira looked up and fumbled to standing, before lifting her skirts and running up the stairs once more. The front door opened as she bolted behind the wall of the West Wing. Instantly, she collided with Charlotte and collapsed onto the floor with a yelp. </span></p><p>
  <span>“What on earth are you doing?!” Charlotte hissed quietly, throwing the shoes irritably on Moira’s stomach. </span>
</p><p><span>“Sneaking.” she whispered back, pulling the shoes on and allowing Charlotte to help her up. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Yes, well you really aren’t good at it.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira dusted off while Charlotte straightened her hair, all the while Magnus called after his ward.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Moira? Moira, what’s going on?” Moira flung her head around the corner and called out:</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I tripped!”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Magnus started ascending the steps, coming after her. “Do you need some help?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“OH! Oh! No! No! I’m okay now.” Once finished, Moira straightened up tall and sauntered out, looking at Magnus with a flushed smile. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Well, good morning then.” He offered a terse smile and nodded at the woman, before holding his arm out for Moira to take it. Moira traipsed down, trying to gain her breath back while the corset kept her feeling winded. She placed a delicate hand on his arm and descended the final steps, holding her breath before taking a gasp of air every so often.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span> “What’s the matter?” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Nothing.” she smiled briefly, trying to keep her nerves and her breath even-keel.</span></p><p><span>Moira tapped the hardboiled egg with a spoon, cracking the shell lightly. Magnus was so preoccupied with watching the young woman that he hardly touched his own breakfast. Moira did her best to act normal under his scrutinizing gaze, although her stomach churned at the idea of food. She acted like she didn’t know she was about to be betrothed, that she never spoke to Hector Barbossa and that she most certainly </span><em><span>never </span></em><span>came to the breakfast table hungover from a midnight rebellion. Her nerves betrayed her momentarily, her hand shaking as she reached for a piece of bread. She paused and laid her hands flat on the table, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. </span><em><span>‘Don’t panic. Please don’t panic.’ </span></em><span>she thought, reaching to her tea and sipping on it in attempts to soothe her.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“What’s changed your demeanor with me?” Magnus asked, taking a sip of what she now recognized as whiskey. </span></p><p><span>Moira glanced at him quickly, letting out a steady breath from pursed lips. “ That’s quite a loaded question.” She began, taking her eyes off of him and thinking carefully of what she’d say next. “I learned that I wasn’t being entirely grateful for what you’ve done for me.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Magnus settled back into his seat when Moira finally met his eyes and forced a gracious smile. </span></p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” she whispered breathily before returning to breaking apart her eggshell. </span>
</p><p><span>The betrayal and fear she felt toward the man weighed heavy on her, though she dared not show it.  The truth was that she did not feel grateful for her life any longer. Her gratitude and sense of hope died long ago, when she found how selfish and ill-intentioned Magnus was.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“ You’re welcome, Moira.” He gave her a tight smile in return, taking another swig of alcohol. </span><span><br/>
</span> <em><span>‘He’s drinking rather early in the day, even for him.’ </span></em><span>Moira eyed the drink in his hand with an indiscernible look, all the while trying to figure out why he felt the need to drink first thing in the morning.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I’ve been meaning to speak with you actually.” He pressed on, looking at his plate and then back to her. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“What is it?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“ I think it's high time for me to extend some privileges to you.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <em><span>‘This is it. This is the beginning of the end.’ </span></em><span>Moira perked up at his comment like it was the first time she heard it-- like it wasn’t attached to anything more nefarious in her opinion </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“My aunt is set to arrive here this evening and I wanted you to meet her.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“You want me to meet your aunt?” she repeated slowly, her eyes wide in disbelief. He nodded, finally cutting a slice of bread from the loaf. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“But why?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I’d like to announce something special in her company tonight.” </span></p><p><span>Moira stared down at her breakfast, picking up the bread and forcing herself to take a bite. She did everything she could to act unbothered and fought the urge to spit out the food and run from the room.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I can’t wait to meet her.” A pleased smile returned to her face although she was anything but pleased. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She spent much of the day with Magnus, making a point to be near him despite herself. With each passing minute, Moira felt the walls closing in on her. The sheer amount of information thrown at her over the past day and a half left her feeling borderline mad. Keeping track of her mind proved more and more difficult the longer she sat there, so she busied herself with books and idle conversation. It wasn’t that she wanted to be near him, it was that she felt she needed to be. If Moira wanted to protect Charlotte from Magnus, she’d have to play the part she refused to fully embrace.</span>
</p><p><span>Moira flipped through the pages of a book written by Johnathon Swift, glancing every so often at the man pacing the study. Moira recalled a time naught but a year ago when Magnus acted just as vexed in this exact room-- a memory she continuously pushed away for fear of it overtaking her. His pacing made her nervous and she wondered if Hector failed to keep his mouth shut about her. With a thick gulp, Moira knew it would be far more torturous to wait for him to approach her. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Milord, are you alright?” she asked softly, peering at him with a look of concern. Magnus stopped in front of her, his shadow growing long against the fiery hearth. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Of course, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“You’ve been walking around the room like that for quite a while now.” Magnus gave her a pensive look, rather uncharacteristic for the man she knew. He hesitated in front of her, before taking to pace a few more rounds. </span></p><p><span>Moira watched him, the book still left open on her lap. She tried to take a deep breath to quell her own angst, but the corset restricted her lungs and instilled even more anxiety within her. </span><em><span>‘This just won’t do.’  </span></em><span>she thought, marking her page and setting the book aside. Moira stood up swiftly and brushed out the crumples in her skirts</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“What are you doing?” he asked all too quickly, earning a quizzical glance from Moira.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I was going to help Charlotte in the kitchen.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“You want to help… the </span><em><span>help</span></em><span>?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I don’t mind the work, milord. I think we both could use a spot of tea anyway, don’t you?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Magnus paused and blinked at her, his face just as stern and serious as ever. Yet, if Moira looked very carefully, she could see a hint of turmoil and upset behind his eyes.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I don’t think it is entirely proper for you to make the tea.” he stated, looking down at her suspiciously. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Perhaps you’d allow me if you knew I wanted to make it as a kindness to you?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“For me?” he repeated, his mouth a grimace while his brows lifted high onto his forehead. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Yes, for you.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Why?” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Something is vexing you, I can tell. You don’t have to tell me, but I’d like to at least help to put your mind at ease.” He remained silent and stony, a faraway look crossing over his face. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>She stepped closer to the door and watched for any retaliation. When there was no sign of protest nor ire, Moira gave him a soft smile.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I’ll just nip into the kitchen then. I won’t be long.” </span></p><p> </p><p><span>“Oh! Damn this blasted place!” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Charlotte cried when a puddle of water sloshed from her heavy bucket and the tea kettle clattered loudly to the floor. A pile of dishes lay stacked and filthy on the worn wooden table in the center of the room. The hearth was blazing and Charlotte was standing before it, sweating and clearly beyond aggravated. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Charlotte?” Moira asked, taken aback by her governess’ uncharacteristic profanities. Moira’s voice caused Charlotte to nearly jump out of her skin. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Oh Moira! What on earth are you doing in here?” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I came to help. What’s going on?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Well, that wouldn’t be entirely proper--” Charlotte blinked down at the mess of water on the floor, seeping into the cracks of the floorboards. “This bloody, bloody hand! I can hardly make a pot of tea on my own now, I-.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“How about we make the tea together and I’ll help clean up?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“What about Magnus?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“He doesn’t mind.” Charlotte blinked owlishly, stray hairs sticking up at odd ends from the heat and her flustered state. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“He- he doesn’t… </span><em><span>mind?”</span></em><span> the governess repeated dumbfounded and watched as Moira picked up the copper kettle from the floor. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Charlotte put her good hand on the prep table to steady herself, rubbing her crooked fingers over the wisps of hair stickied with sweat. Moira set the kettle on the table and pulled the bucket from Charlotte’s hand, pouring some of the clean water diligently into the kettle. </span></p><p><span>“So, where’s the mop?” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Th-the mop.” Charlotte’s hand was on her heart at this point, her expression dancing between incredulous and utterly bewildered. She relented, pointing towards a small closet across the kitchen. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira shuffled to the door and swung it open, rummaging through the various cleaning supplies on hand. She pulled out the mop with an “Ah-ha!” and returned to the wet floor, sopping it up with the dry fabric. Charlotte let out a sigh of relief, smoothing her hand over her hair once more and settling onto the lone stool at the prep table. Moira glanced at her, watching the thoughts turn over in her mind. The governess’ expression fixed into a deep frown and a worried brow-- of which Moira knew yet another scolding would ensue. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“You shouldn’t toy with him, Miss.” Charlotte admonished, while Moira shook her head. Avoiding the woman’s stare proved useless in staving off yet another warning from her. </span></p><p><span>“It’s not right. God knows what will happen if he finds out you’ve been going behind his back now”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Who said I’m </span><em><span>toying </span></em><span>with him?”</span><em><span><br/>
</span></em> <span>“So you’re telling me your flowery talk and warm smiles are all genuine?” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira halted her actions and studied the woman, trying to come up with a proper answer for Charlotte. She found very quickly that she couldn’t. She knew that she was cozying up to Magnus simply to get on his good side and create a smoother escape. Her face heated at the private admission and she remained silent, returning to mopping up the last bit of water. </span></p><p><span>“Do you think he won’t notice? That he won’t ask questions?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Stop reprimanding everything I do.” Moira grumbled quietly and handed off the mop to Charlotte to ring out and put away. She knew the governess was merely looking after her as always, being the only person to appeal to Moira’s conscience and moral compass. She didn’t want to admit that Charlotte may very well be right. </span></p><p><span>“I’ll reprimand anything that’s likely to result in you getting maimed or worse!”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“You want me to be a lady and then you reprimand me for my attempts. You want me to leave but act as if I’m a criminal when I try to. I’m trying to keep him calm so he doesn’t harm you again, but all you can think of is how wrong I am for convincing him that I’m actually </span><em><span>a proper, marriageable woman.</span></em><span>” Moira spat, not daring to meet Charlotte’s eye. “What do you want from me?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I want you to be safe and happy, Moira. That’s all.” Moira softened visibly and looked to Charlotte, biting back yet another onslaught of tears she didn’t care to show. With a shaky breath, Moira relented, “Meet me in town tonight. We can talk about all of this plainly then.” </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
<br/>
</span></p><p><span>Moira sauntered back into the study to see Magnus sitting on the settee, flipping through the pages of the book she’d previously been reading. She blinked at the sight, at the small curve of a smile on the man’s face and how peculiarly human he seemed at that moment. She cleared her throat and he whirled around, looking at her as if he’d been caught with his pants down.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Tea?” she offered, lifting the tray in her hands slightly before placing it on his mahogany desk. </span></p><p><span>Magnus stood and wandered over to her, looking down at the tea and back up at her. “Thank you.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira offered a half smile, pouring a cup for herself and then for him. “So, when is she due to arrive?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Magnus grabbed a few sugar cubes from its container and plopped it into his tea. “I would say within the hour or so, if all things are on schedule.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“ Are you nervous?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>He paused and gave her a disturbed glance, his eyes narrowing a fraction. “Why do you ask?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“You seem bothered, as I said before.” </span></p><p><span>Magnus resumed preparing his tea, adding a few splashes of milk from a small decanter. He took his teaspoon in hand and began stirring with a faraway stare. “I haven’t seen my father’s family in a long time.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira sensed some unspoken contempt in his voice when he mentioned his father’s relatives. </span><em><span>‘Family contention would explain his odd behavior today.’ </span></em><span>Magnus took his own cup and returned to the settee, sipping at his tea and staring blankly into the fire. Moira peered over her shoulder at him and decided against pushing the matter. Instead, she finished preparing her own cup of tea and made her way to settle in next to the man. They drank their tea in each other’s silent company, both lost in thought for two entirely different reasons. If this woman was to arrive shortly, it was only a matter of time until Moira saw the inner workings of Magnus’ family dynamics.</span><span><br/>
<br/>
</span></p><p><span>What Moira was not prepared for was the grand, raucous temperament of his relative. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Why hello!” The woman announced loudly with a grandiose flourish of her hands.  His aunt entered Magnus Manor with her nose stuck high into the air and her eyes flitting over the surroundings shrewdly. </span></p><p><span>Both Magnus and Moira stood side by side in the foyer, both looking rather appalled by the woman’s garb. She donned the newest fashion of riding habit, her crimson skirts distastefully short and a pair of matching trousers peeking out from underneath. A primly gloved hand draped in front of Magnus and the old woman gave him a rather expectant look. Begrudgingly, Magnus took said hand and kissed it gently as was an apparent custom in the family. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Oh, Wally, how good it is to see you! You’ve grown up and out some since I last saw you!” She exclaimed, patting Magnus’ stomach with the opposite hand. </span></p><p><span>Moira swore she could see Magnus’ eye twitch while she spoke and his mouth settled into a thin line. Moira returned her eyes to the theatrical woman, trying to bite back her own reaction when she said: “And just who is this wiry little thing here? Look at her, all skin and bones.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Moira, may I introduce you to my aunt:  Lady Alice Cardy of Falmouth?” Magnus glanced to Moira warily and motioned with his hands to present the lady in front of the pair. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“How do you do?” Moira curtseyed and averted her gaze downward politely. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Hello, Moira. I swear, my nephew ought to feed you a little more.” Lady Alice admonished before returning her gaze to Magnus. “She looks like a proper pauper, Wally.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Shall we have supper?” Magnus quickly changed the subject, holding out his arm for Moira and another for Lady Alice. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span><br/>
</span> <span>“So tell me, Moira, what’s your relation to the fine lord here?” Lady Alice took no time getting straight to the details she had been dying to learn. </span></p><p>
  <span>Magnus gave his aunt an affronted look, to which she merely shrugged and continued haughtily, “I’m merely curious. I’ve not heard a thing about you in all these years. Are you a new addition to the manor?” </span>
</p><p><span>Moira glanced over at Magnus, slowly dabbing her mouth with a cloth napkin. She didn’t particularly enjoy the phrase </span><em><span>‘new addition’, </span></em><span>as if Moira was some inanimate object that Magnus would later toss away.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Moira is my ward, Lady Alice. She’s been here for quite some time.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Why haven’t I heard of her then?” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira quickly shoved a spoonful of pease soup into her mouth, trying to keep herself otherwise preoccupied in attempts to avoid answering any of Lady Alice’s questions. The conversation became increasingly awkward with each word Lady Alice uttered.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I’m a private person, you know that.” Magnus took a sip of very likely his sixth glass of whiskey. Moira could tell he was becoming increasingly irritated by his aunt by the way he kept nursing said drink, fixing his eyes on Lady Alice with a stern face. Moira found herself stuck between being increasingly frustrated by the blunt mannerisms of the lady and in awe at her blatant disregard for the standards upper-class women were held to. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span> “Well, let the lady speak for herself!”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira gasped in surprise, spilling some of her soup in the process. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Fine.” Magnus growled, eyeing Lady Alice dangerously. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“What is your relation to my nephew?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I-”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“She’s my fiancee.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“What?!” Lady Alice cried, snapping her head toward Magnus with a scowl. Moira placed both of her hands on the table and stared wide-eyed at her soup. </span><em><span>‘This is not exactly how I imagined he’d propose.’ </span></em><span>Moira thought, lifting her gaze to see both Magnus and Lady Alice staring at her.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Y-yes. His fiancee.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Since when?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Since now. We’re due to be married after I return from Falmouth-- of which I’ve yet to announce. Right!” Magnus threw his napkin on his first course and huffed, polishing off his drink. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Moira is my fiancee and my ward. I had her raised here by a governess to be a proper lady in a very private and sheltered setting. I was to propose to her officially tonight, but she has known of my intent for a number of years now. This is why I need you to stay here for the remainder of this month. I’m leaving for Falmouth in a week and I need someone to keep Moira company while I’m away. When I return, we will have a private ceremony and you can return to your home in Falmouth.” Magnus gave Lady Alice an indignant look. “There you are, milady, you are completely up to date on all the happenings in my manor.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Hmph.” Lady Alice sat back and surveyed Moira, her visage twisting in disgust. “I thought you’d look for someone more like your mother. I daresay, she isn’t a thing like her.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I don’t think it’s your place to say you know who Moira is.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Is it yours? Hm?” Lady Alice replied snappishly, her head whipped toward Magnus. “Maybe it’s better you’ve raised her in such a way. Your father raised you the same and you turned out alright. Well, other than your mother acting as a nursemaid for you-- it made you a measure too spoiled, I believe.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Their bowls clattered on the table as Magnus stood up in such a quick fury, slamming his palms onto the surface. </span></p><p>
  <span>“You-” He started heatedly, whipping his finger in his aunt’s direction. “You will n</span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>talk of my mother or that beard-splitting cad you call a brother in my presence again.” He ordered, his steely orbs boring into the older woman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moira stood up, looking between the both of them in utter apprehension. Lady Alice made no move to leave her seat and instead reached over to the covered centerpiece entree. She lifted the cover and peered at the shoulder of mutton garnished with thyme and lemon. “Huh. Not even a proper meal for your dear aunt Alice.” She tutted, her own dark eyes flicking meaningfully to him. </span>
</p><p><span>Moira’s mouth dropped open at her audacity and she looked to Magnus. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, breathing steadily and heavy in order to keep his black mood from taking over. With as much dignity as he could, he kicked his chair out from behind him and stormed toward the door. He yanked it open in a flurry, taking one last look at Lady Alice, before slamming the door behind him. Moira stood, frozen in place while she looked from the Magnus woman and the door. After a few moments, she gathered a plate and began serving up food to bring to her guardian. Lady Alice watched her for a while, although she could not stay quiet for long. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, leaning back in her seat. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Honestly, I don’t know why you nurse him that way. Maybe you are just like his mother.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira let out a shaky sigh, trying desperately to bite her tongue. Alas, she failed. “Tell me, Lady Alice, is it my position here or your brother’s son that offends you so?” </span></p><p><span>Lady Alice spluttered in offense, miraculously rendered temporarily speechless. She scurried to Magnus’ empty seat, grabbing a few utensils and making her way to the door. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I don’t care what kind of man he is, you didn’t have to be so cruel.” With that, she stepped out and beelined straight to the study door. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira discarded the idea of knocking and instead allowed herself into the study. Magnus didn’t acknowledge her presence, instead busying himself with stabbing the poker at the kindling and logs in the hearth. With shaking hands, Moira made her way to his mahogany desk, setting the food down and clearing her throat. </span></p><p>
  <span>“I brought you a plate. I thought you might want to eat in peace after..” she trailed off, curtsying to his back and heading toward the door. </span>
</p><p><span>“Stay.” He froze his actions of poking the fire, one hand pressed on the top of the stony, ashy fireplace. The ward turned on her heel and looked to the man, finally seeing his own eyes peering back at her. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Alright.” she whispered airily, averting her eyes to the ground. She grabbed the dish of potatoes and mutton, making her way to the settee in front of the now blazing hearth. Magnus came to settle next to her after she settled in herself, gently taking the dish from her hands. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>They said nothing for a few minutes, the only sounds reverberating from the room were the clinking of dishes, chewing and the crackling of the fiery logs. Moira smoothed her hands over her skirts, smiling to herself at the memory of vaulting over the banister earlier that morning. </span><em><span>‘To be a fly on the wall in that moment.’ </span></em><span>She thought in mild amusement. Moira bit back a laugh when she realized Hector was, in fact, the fly on the wall at that moment. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“What are you thinking of?” Magnus spoke up in between his bites and Moira nearly jumped out of her seat, unaware that he’d been watching her the whole time.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I just can’t believe you grew up with a woman like that in the house.” She said quickly.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>A rare, rumbling chuckle escaped Magnus’ throat and Moira snapped her head toward him in alarm. She could hardly remember the last time she heard the man laugh. “It wasn’t pleasant.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“She’s so…”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Loud, rude, insufferable?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira gave him a knowing look and smiled gently herself, before turning back to the fire.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“She reminds me too much of my father.” He sighed, shaking his head and taking another bite of meat. Moira felt the tension well up within her again and let out a steady sigh, trying to reel in her own emotions once more. Tentative and insecure, Moira asked a question she didn’t expect a true answer to:</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“What… what was he like?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Magnus dropped his fork onto the plate and stopped chewing, his gray orbs brooding with a faraway storm. Moira bit her lip and fiddled with her bandaged hands in her lap. “He… was an exceptional Lord. Not so exceptional as a father or a husband.” </span></p><p>
  <span>Moira’s eyes widened fractionally before she turned back to him, nodding slowly. Her silence seemed to calm Magnus’ ire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He spent a lot of time with other women and my mother passed when he was indisposed in such a way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way he spoke on it so resolutely struck Moira as odd. She studied his face, watching the slight wavering in his brow and pulling at the corners of his mouth that he was holding back his own emotional response. Moira gulped nervously and reached out a shaky hand, placing it gently on his forearm. Magnus flinched and instantly turned to stone at her touch, although he made no move to push her away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes, life takes away the people we love the most and twists the ones who are supposed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>love us</span>
  </em>
  <span> the most.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few moments ticked by, both neither daring to move. Magnus’ tension melted away bit by bit, until he set the plate aside and took her hand. He scooted closer, bent his elbow and tucked her hand into the crease, patting it once affectionately. They spoke minimally for the rest of their time together and Magnus left her to retire to her own room a couple hours before midnight.</span>
</p><p><span>That night, Moira had a worrying feeling in her guts. </span><em><span>‘Am I going crazy?’ </span></em><span>She thought to herself as her bare feet padded over the chill stone floor. The company she kept throughout the day kept her well distracted from what happened the night prior. Now that she was alone, she started mulling it all over again with the events from the day compounding into one huge cluster of confusion. </span><em><span>‘Who is she? Who is that woman behind the locked door?’ </span></em><span>Moira held both hands to her chest, scanning the pitch-black of the narrow hall repeatedly. Her spine prickled and her breath hitched in her throat when she turned the corner to see the shadow of the locked room’s door hanging wide open. The air felt thick and heavy, as if it were charged with an electric energy one would feel before a storm. Moira flung herself behind the wall and peered around the corner. Nothing. She saw no movements in the shadows, nor any silhouette of a person. Apprehensive curiosity sent another wave of goosebumps over her flesh. Moira inched around the corner ever so quiet, the skirt of her nightgown balled up in her fist.</span><em><span> ‘How did the door open?’</span></em><span> She’d not heard anyone walking around the West Wing and Charlotte left hours prior. </span><em><span>‘Charlotte wouldn’t do something like this, would she?’ </span></em><span>Moira and her governess did not leave off on a bad note, but the two did quarrel earlier on in the kitchens. Moira wasn’t willing to believe Charlotte would do such a thing, angry or not. </span><em><span>‘So who did this?’ </span></em><span>Her eyes widened at the possibility of Magnus being down the corridor. She turned on her heel, ready to return to her room and find another way out or not leave at all. The distinct sound of a click and the quiet squeal of metal dragging on metal caused her to peer over her shoulder. The door had closed and locked on its own volition. </span><span><br/>
</span> <em><span>‘Moira.’ </span></em><span>The same whisper from the night before sounded off. </span></p><p>
  <span>“I am most definitely losing my mind.” She whispered to herself, looking forward again. A strangled scream escaped her throat and she clasped a hand tightly over her mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naught but ten paces ahead of her stood the emaciated silhouette of a feminine form. Moira backed away a step while the strange woman stepped a crooked, creaking foot forward. She scrambled back once more and the woman stepped in toe. Her foot met a tiny metal chain, hot and angry under her heel. She jumped and looked down, seeing the eerie glint of gold staring back up at her in the hushed dark. Moira snatched the item quickly, immediately recognizing it as the golden locket of Oliver Magnus. Her eyes flit up to the imposing figure, only to find she was utterly alone. With a strangled gasp, Moira turned in the direction of the locked room and sped past it. Barreling straight for the winding, stuffy staircase to the exit, stopping only once to shuffle through an abandoned crate. She snatched up her male disguise and the satchel she filled with valuable items pilfered from the undercroft, panicked and shivering all over. With one last look behind her, Moira barreled through the servants entrance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The map charter’s been lookin’ fer you.” A voice to her left muttered as soon as Moira hoisted herself over the gates of Magnus Manor. </span>
</p><p><span>Moira jumped, clearly startled by the brute of a man shrouded in the darkest corner of the quiet street. “God! How long have you been waiting there?!” She admonished, one hand clutching her chest. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“ ‘Round an hour. Ye hear me, though? Barbossa’s lookin’ fer ya.” Moira nodded and sighed, motioning for Thomas to walk with her down the street.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Ye happen to know why?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I saw him today, at the manor.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Bloody hell, Moira.” Thomas smoothed a hand over his pale hair, shaking his head as the pair of them walked down a dim, southbound alleyway. The oil lanterns flickered against the shadow of cobblestone walls, some hushing out as they neared the rolling sounds of the ocean. Unsavory characters of the streets riddled their path, most leaving well enough alone and others offering nasty looks. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Hey luv, care for a romp?” A prostitute lifted her skirts and offered her ankle atop a fish barrel, causing Moira to grimace underneath the shadow of her hat. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Not interested, lass.” Thomas grumbled, making a point to keep his eyes on the road. </span></p><p>
  <span>“Suit yerself.” The lady called before turning to a rather young, drunken sailor with the same proposition.</span>
</p><p><span>“Well, it’s not like I meant to.” Moira finally replied snappishly to which he playfully pushed her. Moira gave Thomas an apologetic smile before continuing: “ I bribed him to meet me tonight. It appears I have a lot of explaining to do.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Yes, lass, I’d say ye do. I’ll keep an eye on ye two.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“That’d be nice, but don’t make it too noticeable. I think I’m going to talk to him out back. It needs to be private.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“No need fer all that, he’s agreed to meet ye in the storage room.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“What?!” She cried, slapping his arm with the back of her hand. She stopped him on the mainroad, turning to address him fully. “You’re worried about me making a mess of things and you’re inviting him into </span><em><span>a room alone with me</span></em><span>?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>"Weren't my idea. Evelyn doesn’t particularly like the man or his Captain, but she figured ye'd do better at persuadin' him if yer alone. He's made a spectacle of takin' a likin' to yer--"</span></p><p><span>Thomas glanced at her up and down and shrugged. "Well anyway, I made an agreement to let you talk privately so long as I’m right outside the door.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Charlotte’s going to go mad.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Aye, she is.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I don’t know how much more I can do of this, Thomas.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“What? Muckin’ about with us, tryin’ to come up with an escape plan and gettin’ nowhere?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Exactly that. He proposed today. </span><em><span>Proposed.</span></em><span> We are to be wed in a month's time.”</span><span><br/>
</span><span>Thomas clucked his tongue and shook his head, both continuing down their path to The Sloop Inn.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“ We won’t let that happen, I promise you.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I don’t really know if you can stop it.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Well, let’s get this all sorted out tonight. Once ye have yer feet on the ground and we know what the map charter’s willin’ to do, things’ll be better. Nothins’ final.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I hope so.” </span></p><p>
  <span>"One day at a time, aye?"</span>
</p><p><span>"One day at a time." </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>"I'll be out here, waitin' fer ya." </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>"Thank you, Thomas Bligh." She responded airily, earning a toothy grin from the man. </span></p><p>
  <span>Letting him shut the door behind her, Moira took in her surroundings. The storage room held a strange comfort for her, more like a home than a simple room. The walls were lined by many fine spirits, some of which she sampled and others far too expensive to slip a free sip or two. There were only three bundles of candles, two on barrels in opposing corners of the room and one set slowly melting all over the crate-table. The barrel on the right of the crate-table was occupied by none other than Hector Barbossa. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the aroma of sweaty, heady alcohol and she found she no longer hated it. Throwing her hat atop the candlelit barrel across from the door, she shook out her hair and sighed softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Looks like yer comin' home after a long time away." </span>
</p><p><span>Moira took a moment to gather herself after her frightening experience in the manor, not ready to address the auburn-haired man. He, however, had other plans for how the conversation would go.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“That was such a fine performance this mornin’, Missy.” The tone of light-hearted sarcasm in Hector’s voice elicited a quiet laugh from the young woman.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span> “In all me years, I can honestly say I’ve never seen a high-class lady throw herself off a staircase like that.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I’m glad I could entertain you.” Moira grinned nervously, turning to the older male shyly. “I didn’t expect you to see me there this morning.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“That be a bit obvious with the way ye nearly fell out the window in nothing but yer dressin’ gown too.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Yes, well, you seem to be making a habit of startling me.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Hector grinned slyly and flourished a hand for her to sit on the barrel across from him. “Wonder what that could mean.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira huffed and rolled her eyes at his flirtatious subtleties, making her way to the barrel with her arms crossed. Offering Hector a playful glare, she settled onto the barrel cross-legged-- of which only seemed to amuse the map charter further. “It appears I have a lot of explaining to do.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“That be true. But first, I reckon ye told me of a </span><em><span>reward </span></em><span>fer my silence, milady.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira smirked and dug into her satchel, pulling out an emerald she found during her last excursion in the undercroft. She tossed it to him and he caught it mid air, his eyes alighting with hungry greed as he turned the gem over in his palm. Next, he brought it to his mouth and rubbed the biting edge of his tooth on the stone. Moira let out a laugh and shook her head. </span></p><p>
  <span>"I didn't anticipate that you'd eat the damn thing." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ye'll learn quickly in this life that ye shouldn't trust anyone but yerself. I was checking to make certain it’s the real thing."  He explained, holding the emerald up to the candlelight before finally pocketing it. "That big oaf outside told me a bit about you. Yer the Lord’s ward, aye?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moira stared at her hands folded in her lap and nodded silently to him, feeling dread begin to creep up her throat again.</span>
</p><p><span>“So why are ye sneakin’ out when ye’ve clearly got a prim and proper life?” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I suppose he didn’t tell you that the only time I stepped foot outside of the manor in eleven years was the first night I snuck out.” She started, leaning to the left to rest her head on the wall. Her half-lidded eyes focused on the candles casting odd, fluttery shapes on the makeshift table and she let out a sigh. “Or that the reason my face is scarred is because of the Lord himself.” This time she flicked her eyes up to him meaningfully, watching his brow furrow at her words. “ It also appears, Hector, that I have to put my faith in you. The reason why I’ve asked you not to reveal my identity to Magnus is an act of self-preservation." Moira lifted her head from the wall, keeping her eyes level on him. "He would kill me if you told him what I’ve been up to.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>He nodded slowly, never taking his sharp stare off of her. “It’s a bit foolish to put yer trust in a man ye only just met.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Then a fool I shall be-- you may be the only one who holds the key to my freedom.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Now ye sound stark-starin’ mad.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Then I’m a desperate, stark-starin’ mad fool.” She leaned forward, placing both hands on the crate-table. “Hector, I have three women, including myself, and a man in need of passage onto the schooner you sailed in on. We need your help.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Hector Barbossa looked her over, humor and mild disbelief dancing in his eyes. “Ye expect me stowaway three women and that giant mess of a man out there?” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“No, I’m asking you to let us work on the ship until we’ve reached a safe port in the Caribbean.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“An’ how do ye suppose the Cap’n will react when the sailing master escorts said lasses onto his ship?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“We’ll disguise ourselves as men.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Ye know we’re leaving for Falmouth in a week, or were ye too far under yer skirts to hear that this mornin’? No deal, lass. Naught much but trouble in this.” The map-charter stood and swaggered slowly toward the door, marking the end of the conversation. </span></p><p>
  <span>His hand was on the doorknob when suddenly Moira flung herself from her seat. Her mind was racked with the desperate thoughts of escape, with her hopes being crushed by each step of his retreating form. Once he left that room, there’d be no way out-- she would have failed. </span>
</p><p><span>“No!” She jumped in front of him, slamming her hand over the door. “I’ll do anything you want! I’ll give you money! Please, just listen.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>His violent azure gaze and stony face caused her to shrink back against the wall. He removed his hand from the door and placed it next to her head, leaning closer to her. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Tis a dangerous thing, trusting a man ye have only just met.” Moira blinked up at him, wide-eyed and scared. “Anythin’, ye say?” </span></p><p><span>He repeated, his free hand toying with a strand of her dark hair and his face mere inches from hers. Heat crawled up her cheeks and her hands began to tremble as she felt his hot breath fan her face. She didn’t know whether to tear her eyes away from him or stare him down. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“You’re our only hope.” She gulped nervously but kept her eyes leveled on his own, searching for some semblance of understanding from the man.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Yer askin’ quite a bit of me, Moira. I’ll expect ye to return the favor.”  Moira turned her head away as he closed in on her, brushing his lips over her cheek. She could smell the alcohol on his breath and she pressed herself harder against the wall, wishing she could sink into it. Moira reached over and rapped a warning knock on the door, only to have Hector pin her arm against the wall. </span></p><p>
  <span>“Get off of me!” She hissed, using her free hand to try to shove him away. He snatched her wrist and pinned it in place, letting out a quiet chuckle. </span>
</p><p><span>In her next breath, Thomas barreled through the door, rage flashing in his eyes at the sight of the man trapping Moira. As quick as a viper, Hector whirled the ward around, imprisoning her beneath his arm and pointing his flintlock pistol at her temple. Her breaths came out in rasps and her whole body shook with fright, her eyes trained on Hector’s pistol-wielding hand. She said a silent prayer and hoped that the man did not truly intend to kill her right then and there.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Let her go.” Thomas growled dangerously, fists clenched and muscles tensed. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I’m the one with the gun and the lass, so I’ll be the one givin’ the orders. Get the other two wenches and all of ye come in here.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Rot in hell, mate.” The click of the hammer pulling back caused Moira to whimper and she rasped out a cry, “Just do it!” </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Thomas, Evelyn and Charlotte shuffled into the room mere moments later. The governess already had tears streaming over her cheeks and she clapped a hand over her mouth when she saw Moira under such a threat. Evelyn sneered at the man, but said nothing, shrugging off Thomas’ hand and striding confidently to the seat opposite of the map-charter. Hector backed up toward the other barrel and sat back, taking Moira down with him. She shifted uncomfortably on his lap but dared not to move when the flintlock pistol hovered at her temple once more.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Now that we’ve got a better understandin’ of each other, let’s talk.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Le--”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Evelyn was the first to speak, cutting off Thomas with a wave of her hand. “You know what we want. It’s clear </span><em><span>you </span></em><span>want something as well. Tell me, is it just the girl you’re after or is there something more to this?” </span></p><p><span>When Moira spared a glance at Evelyn, she saw the fiery, mutinous look in her eyes. Their plan of escaping St. Ives teetered on the tip of a blade-- or the barrel end of a gun-- and the ward could tell that the woman across from her would stop at nothing to get the upper hand.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Depends on what yer offerin’, lass.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“That </span><em><span>depends </span></em><span>on what you want.” Moira hissed. Hector shifted, leaning her back slightly so he could have a look at her face. </span></p><p><span>“I’m listenin’, just as ye asked of me.” He breathed, brushing a stray hair from her forehead. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“How honorable of you.” Moira growled through gritted teeth, flinching slightly at his touch. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Honor’s got naught to do with it.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Clearly.” He pushed her forward again, moving with her to continue the conversation. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“So tell me, lass. What’s the benefit in me </span><em><span>not </span></em><span>turnin’ Moira straight back to the Lord?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“How ‘bout we start with me </span><em><span>not </span></em><span>poundin’ yer face in?” Thomas snapped harshly, whilst Charlotte clapped a shaking hand on his shoulder and yanked him back.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“C-careful, Tom. Your next step could be her life.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“No. He said it himself. He needs her. Why would he kill her if he has nothing to gain from it?” Evelyn cut in with a knowing smirk, leaning on the crate with her arms crossed. </span></p><p><span>Hector narrowed his eyes at the barmaid and whipped the gun in the direction of Thomas. Evelyn hardly reacted, pulling out her best poker face, although Moira could see the panic setting in her brown eyes. Thomas froze in place, barely daring a breath and eyes comically crossed whilst he stared down the barrel of the piece. Charlotte let out a shrill cry, shrinking into the corner by the door.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Seems the odds are tipped in me favor, </span><em><span>Tom.</span></em><span>” Barbossa hissed next to Moira’s ear, his mouth curved into an arrogant sneer. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“No!” Moira screamed, throwing her weight into Hector’s arm.</span><span><br/>
</span> <b><em>Bang! </em></b><em><span><br/>
</span></em> <span>Evelyn’s mouth dropped into a silent scream and her eyes fell on Thomas’ sweat-slickened and panicked face. Shards of glass flew through the air and bounced off the floor. The fresh scent of whiskey and gunpowder smoke wafted through the room. An eerie silence fell over the entire tavern, all noise evaporating the instant the smoke settled. Thomas staggered back and gasped in fear when Charlotte’s hand landed on his shoulder once more. Evelyn propelled herself from the chair and into Thomas’ arms, quickly checking him over. In a whirlwind of motion, Moira was thrown off Hector’s lap as he jumped to his feet. She rounded on him in a stumble, her vulpine gaze locked on his wild blues, the wrong end of a cutlass just a breath away from her cheek.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“What’s in yer head, woman?!” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Incensed by Hector’s manipulative game, Moira slapped away the sword at her face and snapped scathingly:  “What are you going to do? Kill me?” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Both stood their ground, neither daring to move a muscle. A persistent bang on the door tore into the silence of the room. All eyes turned to see Evelyn creak open the door. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“What?!” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“What the bloody hell was that, Evie? We heard a gun!” The patron attempted to peer inside, but Evelyn shoved his head out the door before he could see anything. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Just a bloody minute!” Evelyn slammed the door shut in his face and let out a mirthless laugh.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“You won’t be killing anyone tonight lest you want to be torn apart by a pack of drunken men. Everybody out. I’ve got a rowdy inn to take care of.” Evelyn left the room in a huff and all that was heard outside were her gleeful calls to patrons about a bottle shooting game.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Hector lowered his sword, his stormy eyes glinting dangerously in the light bouncing off the blade. A large hand on her back made Moira nearly jump out of her skin, though she refused to break eye-contact with the man in front of her.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Are ye comin’, Miss Ward?” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Yes, she most certainly is!” Charlotte hissed, her voice cracking. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“No, I’m not finished here. Hector and I will head outside to finish our discussion.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Ye mean I’ll be takin’ ye back to the bloody Lord.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Moira!” The ward held up her hand to silence Charlotte’s protests and pressed Hector further:</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“If I can’t offer you more than what you </span><em><span>think </span></em><span>you will get from him, you can take me back. Let’s talk about this first, over a drink preferably.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Thomas frowned and shook his head, clapping her back once. “If yer talkin’ to him outside, I’ll be escortin’ the both of ya. An’ he won’t be takin’ you </span><em><span>anywhere.</span></em><span>”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>The sounds of gunfire and glass shattering outside of the storage room turned all heads toward the door once more. Evelyn let out a shriek of a laugh from outside the door, before shoving her head back in with a sour look on her face. </span></p><p>
  <span>“I need your help, you big oaf!” she snapped heatedly, her hair sticking up in odd ends before she was pulled away by a caterwauling patron. </span>
</p><p><span>“Let the lass ‘ave a go, lads!”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Bloody hell.” Thomas shook his head and pulled Charlotte toward the door with him, despite her alarmed calls. “Tom- no! Don’t you dare! I’m not lea--” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I’ll meet you both outside, aye!”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Am I bloody invisible?!!”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>The door slammed shut behind them and the two were left in the quiet. In that time, Hector sheathed his sword and was now staring Moira down, arms crossed over his chest. Moira let out a shaky breath and offered a tense smile. There was not a single part of her that wanted to be alone with Hector Barbossa, dangerous as he was. Even so, Moira felt she had no choice but to try her hand at persuading the man-- gun and blade aside. She snatched two bottles of spirits off the shelf to her right and shoved one against his chest. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Cheers, Hector. Follow me.” She strode across the room and picked up her hat, plopping it on top of all the hair she gathered atop her head. Not bothering to wait for the man, she slid out the door, narrowly dodging an empty bottle crashing against the wall in the taproom. She did not see the devilish smirk come over Hector as he followed closely behind.</span><span><br/>
</span></p><p><span>They bobbed and weaved through the rowdy crowd of drunken men and wenches, dodging a fist or a bottle here and there. It had gotten wild in The Sloop Inn before, but Moira had never seen it in such utter chaos. Thomas was having a hell of a time calming the inebriated gaggle of testosterone down, especially when Evelyn kept giggling and encouraging the destructive game of shooting empty bottles. Charlotte took to crouching behind the counter with her ears plugged, in between hysterical crying and scolding her daughter.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira slapped Thomas’ back rapidly in passing, garnering enough attention from him to see the pair heading for the door. He gave Moira an apologetic look, apparently indisposed considering he held one of the more rambunctious men in a headlock. Moira rolled her eyes and flicked her eyes to the door and back at him. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Be there in a minu-- ALRIGHT, YOU LOT, GET YER BLASTED HANDS OFF THE GUN, YOU CAN’T ALL GO AT ONCE!” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>A few paces later, Moira turned on her heel after a middle-aged man toppled between her and Hector, none other than Captain Belroy on the giving end of a fist. </span></p><p>
  <span>“Oi, Hector, hel’ me ou’ here!” Belroy yelled drunkenly, wailing on the spluttering male beneath him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hector rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner and stepped around them, snatching the back of Moira’s frockcoat to follow her the rest of the way out. The back alley held little light and fortunately, much less noise. Few people were out at this hour, save for a wench and an old drunk kissing on each other on the opposite side of the alley. </span>
</p><p><span>Moira cleared her throat audibly and the couple rolled away, but not before the wench sneered: “Tosser!”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>The air held the familiar chill and salty scent Moira fell in love with on the Isle of Skye, however it was tinged with acrid booze and dirty, sour sailor sweat. Moira wasted no time uncorking her whiskey, using her teeth to pull the cork from the narrow opening. She spit out the cork and downed a sizable portion to fight back the enormous weight of anxiety bearing down on her. She prayed it would be enough to stave off a crying episode for now. </span></p><p><span>Hector leaned against the shadowy wall of the The Sloop Inn, nursing his own bottle of whiskey. “Yer right at home here, aren’t ye?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“It’s better than sitting in a stuffy room with an old man whilst suffocating in a dress.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Aye, but you did look quite fetchin’ in that dress.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“You’re insufferable.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Thank ye.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira rolled her eyes and tapped her foot, crossing her arms and looking everywhere but the map-charter. </span></p><p><span>“So did ye bring me out ‘ere for a drink and maybe some of that-” Hector motioned with his bottle toward the shamelessly amorous actions of the couple farther down the alley. “Or did ye really want to talk this out before I turn ye in?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Moira could hear by the testy tone in his voice that he was still dour over what transpired in the storage room, at which she had to stifle a laugh. </span><em><span>'You're not the one who almost got shot AND stabbed.'</span></em><span> She closed her eyes for a moment and let out a heavy sigh, before claiming her own bit of wall next to the man. “We really need on that ship.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Yer mad.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Yes, you said that already.” Moira took a swig of her alcohol, gritting her teeth against its familiar bite. She turned so her shoulder pressed against the wall, fully facing the map-charter. Her stomach felt pleasantly warm, although it lurched at another sound of a gun going off.</span></p><p><span> “ But I really will do anything to get out of here.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Aye, ye said that too.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I can pay you more than what Magnus would offer you.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Yeah? Where ye going to come up with that kind of money? It’s five pounds sterling to take passage on a ship and that’s just fer one person.” </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“ Let me worry about the logistics. You remember where I live, right?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Yer going to steal?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Hell yes, I’m going to steal.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Yer mad.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Please, stop saying that. So what else would I need to give you for you to help us?”</span></p><p>
  <span>Hector barely took a moment to think. "My contract." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of employment? Why?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't want to be traced back to any o' this." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, so the contracts. I can do that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just me own."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What? That makes no sense." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It makes perfect sense."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Now look who sounds mad." If not for the shadows cast on his mature face, Moira would've seen the dangerous look come over him. She could feel his dagger-like glare piercing into her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are ye forgettin' I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>yer only hope</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Hm?" Moira lifted her hand and whiskey in a placating manner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>" Alright, alright. Sheesh, are you always this charming?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Only when I want somethin' done right."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>" Anything else?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>" I need somethin' to prove yer good fer it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The emerald isn't enough?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hector held out his hand expectantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How do you know I have anything else?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I took a peek."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How did yo-" It dawned on her. "-oh." In the highly uncomfortable and confusing situation of sitting on his lap at gunpoint, Moira hadn't noticed that Hector had a peek, at her or the satchel. Moira dug into her bag, wondering why the pockets were so deep and why he hadn't just taken what he wanted. Finally finding purchase on a few items, she decided he simply wanted the honor of embarrassing her further. </span>
  <em>
    <span>'Too bad I'm always embarrassed.'</span>
  </em>
  <span> She pulled out a fine necklace of pearls and a sapphire ring, both likely owned by Magnus' wife, and dropped it into Hector's palm with a twinge of guilt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't know what you'd find under my shirt anyway, I've got my breas--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ye need four contracts of employment if ye want to work with me. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And-</span>
  </em>
  <span>" A smarmy grin settled on his face in the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> "I want ye to be my apprentice."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What, why?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Easiest way to get ye in me bed."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Excuse you, I-" He snapped his head toward her and Moira did not need to see his face to back down.</span>
</p><p> <span>"Yeah, ssure. The mmap-charter's apprentice." </span></p><p>
  <span>Moira blinked up at his fuzzy face, which had begun to sway in the shadows. "The world is spinning, better drink about it." She proclaimed resolutely, holding her bottle in between the two of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did I say that out loud?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just shut up and drink." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a long chug of alcohol, Moira let out a low whistle and planted her head against the wall a little too hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait. Hector, does this mean you're g-gonna help us?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ye do it all an' I will. I'll be expectin' a few favors from you all. Yer on yer own when it comes to gettin' to Falmouth too, payment an' all." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don'worry, I'm won’erful at panic-planning."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moira rubbed a hand over her face and deadpanned: "I'm drunk."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are ye drunk enough to sleep with yet?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>" So, why'd ye return the book to me already." Moira heard the sound of him gulping down his own whiskey. She looked down at her own and found that it was over halfway gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"W-well because I read it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That fast? No."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The world is apt to judge of everything by the success, and whoever has ill fortune will hardly be allowed a good name."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How did ye repeat that perfectly but ye can hardly form a sentence otherwise?" </span>
</p><p> <span>Moira finally sidled over to a barrel and slumped down, poking at her head in response.</span></p><p>
  <span>"What did ye think?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know. Why don' I tell you when we’re on the ship, I'm sober and you haven't held a gun to my head an hour prior?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's fair."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Thomas burst through the door, looking very disheveled and sweaty, but otherwise unharmed. </span>
</p><p><span>"Hello. I'm drunk." Moira chirped helpfully. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Thomas rolled his eyes playfully, before fixing the map-charter a pointed glare.</span><span><br/>
</span><span>Hector snatched the bottle out of her hand and handed it to Thomas before brushing past him without another word. </span></p><p>
  <span>"Charlotte wants a -uh- several words with you, Moira." </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Price of a Promise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N: Couple of notes here.<br/>1. This is the chapter we start really using that M rating. A huge trigger warning here. There's a vivid description of abuse, trauma response and death. Obviously abuse has been an ongoing conflict in the story, but this chapter is when it gets very, very ugly. I’m warning you in advance, so please click away if you don’t want to read that.<br/>2. Any pictures I post on this story are from various artists online. I will never lay claim to these beautiful pieces. They are what inspire me to write each chapter and I share them with you so you can see where some of this is coming from.<br/>3. Five pounds sterling= anywhere between 1k- 120k nowadays. I forgot to add this note into the last chapter.<br/>4. Evelyn has the same personality type (MBTI) as Jack Sparrow, so when you see a phrase he often uses, it is indeed a reference to him. Jackie won’t be a major part of the story until just before COTBP timeframe. I’m focusing on her relationship with all the OCS involved and with Hector. THERE WILL BE JACK ROMANCE IN COTBP, SO IF YOU’RE READING FOR THAT REASON PLEASE HANG TIGHT.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter Eight- The Price of a Promise</b>
</p><p><b><br/>
</b><br/>
Weaving through the tamed, glass-littered mess of the tavern was far simpler with the broad and broody Thomas carving a path. She kept both hands fastened to the back of his cotton tunic, not wholly trusting she could walk in a straight line. Moira’s eyes trailed the room, spotting Hector at the counter, peering at her hands with interest and a hint of something else. His brows furrowed, the wrinkle between them creasing with displeasure. Hector’s eyes met hers, catching her staring at his sour expression, and she instantly flushed a deep red. A sudden halt had her knocking into Thomas with a thump, her cheek bouncing off his upper back.<br/>
“Bloody hell, lad. How drunk are ya?” Thomas laughed, turning around and throwing a light punch to her shoulder. Moira stumbled and plopped on her bottom with a snort of a giggle.<br/>
“Not drunk enough. Whiskey, please!” Her hands reached for the bottle still in his possession, utterly unashamed of making a spectacle of herself in the tavern. Moira forced her ‘male’ voice comically-- thankfully, most of the patrons were far too drunk or distracted to care.<br/>
“Nah, lad. I’m thinkin’ you’ve reached yer limit. Come on, now.” The blonde man grabbed one of her arms and hoisted her up, steadying her before her head could droop onto his shoulder.<br/>
He ushered her past Evelyn, who was perched next to one of the patrons. The man was a plump, cow-eyed fellow with the remainder of his hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck and a set of teeth that would put anyone off their dinner. Next to him sat a scrawny man, likely only a few years older than Evelyn. He had flighty, sea-green eyes, and his hair fell around his face in sandy-blonde, greasy chunks. Moira could see from afar that the plump fellow overpowered the conversation, hardly letting the blonde boy get a word in edgewise. In response, the boy would stick to watching his companion talk, repeating specific phrases he spoke now and then.<br/>
“So I were thinkin’ that if Barbossa wants aught to do with the EITC, it’ll be profitable to follow ‘im, aye?”<br/>
“You must think highly of him. Where did you say you met him?”<br/>
The two overheard the older, balding man in mid-conversation with Evelyn. The man was apparently interested in Evelyn and all too happy to tell her anything since she gave him the time of day. Moira grinned at her knowingly, entirely aware of the fact that the Blackwood daughter had a knack for coaxing information out of people. Thomas grabbed her wrist and yanked her away from the table with a playful laugh.<br/>
“Yer standing about like a damn idiot, can’t trust ya to follow me anywhere.”<br/>
With a quick motion, he threw Moira over his shoulder, and she hung there like a ragdoll, holding her hat atop her head, now lost in a fit of drunken giggles. A few strides later, Moira found herself being deposited onto a seat in the farthest corner of the tavern-- her ears catching the quiet voice of Charlotte Blackwood.<br/>
“Here ya are, Miss Char.”<br/>
“Thank you, Tom.”<br/>
Moira smiled over to Charlotte dreamily as the room slowed to a gentle wave, and the woman came into focus. Her face fell when she saw the stern expression marring Charlotte’s visage.<br/>
“What are you doing to yourself?” The governess spoke up, shaking her head.<br/>
“What?” Moira retorted, taking on a defensive tone.<br/>
“Tom, be a good lad and get her some water and bread.”<br/>
Thomas sent Moira an awkward glance, saluted Charlotte, and headed for the bar counter.<br/>
Charlotte had her mangled hand settled atop her working one, fixing Moira with a stare that caused her to sink under the table nearly.<br/>
“Sit up.”<br/>
Moira did as asked, giving Charlotte a sheepish smile and leaning on the table with one arm. Neither spoke until Thomas came back with the refreshments and was quickly sent away, leaving the two completely undisturbed.<br/>
“Moira, tonight has shown me a lot about your character.”<br/>
“Has it?” Moira frowned, holding her cup and swilling the water around inside. </p><p>Charlotte reached forward, lifting the ward’s chin to look at her. Moira blinked at the woman and smiled nervously, waiting for her to continue.<br/>
“I’ve learned how courageous you are… and just how much pain you’re in.”</p><p> Charlotte offered one of her sympathetic smiles and sighed.<br/>
“You can’t do this anymore, can you?”<br/>
Moira shook her head solemnly, surprised by how much Charlotte’s words sobered her up.<br/>
“Eat up. I need you to remember what I have to say to you.”</p><p>“Are you disappointed in me?” Moira slurred, finishing off the last bits of her bread.<br/>
“Good heavens, no. I could never be ashamed of you.”<br/>
“I just want to feel normal.”<br/>
“I know, my girl. But this?” </p><p>Charlotte motioned to the tavern with her good hand, her eyes softening as she watched Moira wrap her arms around herself. </p><p>“This is <em>not </em>normal. It’s not healthy, and it’s not the life I wanted for either of my girls. You both deserve so much more than nursing on whiskey and strange men to stave off a broken heart. You’re both still so young.”<br/>
“I’m not spending time w--” Charlotte lifted her hand to silence Moira.<br/>
“No matter what I do, I’ll never be able to convince you to leave in a proper way. I’m not even sure there is a proper way to go about all this. There’s nothing I can do to keep you untarnished from the evils of this world. I know that… but I’m coming with you. I’ll stay by you three, no matter what happens.”<br/>
“What do you mean by the <em>‘evils of this world’</em>? Don’t you think I know a bit of them already?”<br/>
“ Of course, but this plan of yours… it’s going to lead to a lot of hardship. That man-- Barbossa-- he’s not going to look out for your best interest. I hope you’re ready for that. I can only trust that you’ll make the right decisions in the end.”<br/>
“I’m doing my best. I just don’t see any other way of getting out of here. Things are finally coming together.”<br/>
“I know. You better believe I am so proud of you, Moira.” Charlotte whispered, and Moira made a choked sound of swallowing back her tears.<br/>
“No matter what happens, you remember that.”<br/>
“Are you proud of Evelyn?”<br/>
Moira watched as Charlotte’s eyes widened slightly, and she hesitated for a great while before answering:<br/>
“I am proud of her fiery spirit and how strong she’s become. To say I’m proud of her choice of work? No. I’m not proud of that <em>choice</em>, but I know why she did it. She’s trying to fill a hole for me that her father left in our lives.”<br/>
Moira nodded in understanding, placing both hands on the table and resting her chin on top of them.<br/>
“Why did you never speak of her?”<br/>
“I didn’t want you to feel like I loved you any less because I had my own flesh and blood at home.”<br/>
Moira let out another strangled squeak, this time a couple of tears spilling down her cheeks.<br/>
“You could’ve told me about her. It would’ve been nice to hear about someone outside of the manor… outside of Magnus.”<br/>
“Can you promise me something?”<br/>
“What?”<br/>
“Promise me you won’t blame yourself for what he did to me anymore.”  </p><p>Moira couldn’t help slamming her forehead into the table as she fell into quiet sobs in the middle of the inn.<br/>
“Do you promise?”<br/>
“Y-yes.”<br/>
Moira wondered how long she could uphold that promise. Watching Charlotte dwindle over the years <em>did </em>leave her drowning in guilt. It was her fault every time Charlotte got hurt because Moira wasn’t ready to be married. She wasn’t prepared to throw her life away, yet she had been so ignorant to the fact that her choices resulted in pain-- until her seventeenth birthday. Her emerald eyes peeked over at the mangled hand resting on the table before Moira buried her face into her arms quickly. She knew now; she was dead certain of the truth. <em>‘It was my fault, Charlotte. We both know that.’</em><em><br/>
</em> How could she stop hating herself for that?<br/>
Charlotte didn’t say anything more for a few minutes, content to let Moira express herself in the lull of conversation. Her good hand was on Moira’s forearm, rubbing gentle circles over her pale skin. Regret weighed heavy on Moira even still, and she imagined it would be impossible to forgive herself. Yet, knowing that Charlotte didn’t hold it against her eased the burden some, if only by a fraction.<br/>
Thomas came up swiftly, pulling a chair up next to Moira and draping a heavy arm about her shoulders. Moira took to the comforting gesture and the gentle pats he would give her, although she knew he was more so trying to cover her emotional outburst from prying eyes. Crying in a tavern wasn’t unheard of, but it was something that drew unwanted attention to her and, potentially, her gender.<br/>
<br/>
“Are you done yet?”<br/>
Evelyn’s voice drew Moira’s head up, and she rubbed at her eyes with her fist, letting out an embarrassed laugh.<br/>
“I’m leaking alcohol.” Moira sniffled, jutting out her bottom lip in a pout.<br/>
“Good, because I want you sober enough to talk about the ass over at the bar.”<br/>
Thomas grinned at the brunette, sitting up and letting her slide in next to Moira. He put his back to the ladies, resting his hind-end on the edge of the table, and set to keep an eye out for any nosy patrons.</p><p>“What happened outside?” Evelyn asked quickly, hoping to glean some information as usual.<br/>
“Well, he <em>is </em>going to help us...and he likely thinks I’m an idiot.”<br/>
“I mean….” Evelyn trailed off, rolling her eyes before fixing Moira with a playful look.<br/>
“Evelyn Mae!” Charlotte scolded, earning a glare from Evelyn.<br/>
“I’m only playing, mum.”<br/>
Moira smiled in good humor and pressed onward, hoping to get the conversation done with so she could have some liquid courage before she returned to the manor:<br/>
“Anyway, he said we need to get a few things. Char, you’re not going to like this. I need to find a few things to pay for our travels. He said five pounds sterling each is the usual price.”<br/>
Charlotte spat out the water she’d sipped on, slapping the table repeatedly with a supremely startled look.<br/>
“Where-- how? What kind of-?” she spluttered, hardly able to conjure up a proper sentence in her shock.<br/>
“I can do it, don’t worry. It’s just the transfer I’ll have trouble with. Could any of you help get it outside of the house? I don’t think I should carry it in town on my own.”<br/>
Evelyn looked up at the blonde man next to her and smirked, waggling her brow at him. He peered down at her, his muscular arms still crossed over his chest.<br/>
“Aye, I’ll help ya. Just meet me by the gates tomorrow night.”<br/>
“Let’s say a couple hours past midnight? I’ll need time to gather everything.”<br/>
“Sure, lass. Just be careful, ey?”<br/>
“I can get some decent cash for whatever you bring, I’ll hold onto it until we leave.” Evelyn chimed in excitedly, clearly eager to get the events underway. Something about sneaky business and money seemed to rile her up more than anything else.<br/>
“Where are you going to take it?” Moira questioned, her brows knitted together in suspicion.<br/>
“I have a lad.”<br/>
“What lad?” Thomas snapped his head to her, the green monster of jealousy fighting to center stage.<br/>
“Not a lad to worry about, you desirous git.”<br/>
Moira tilted her head in curiosity, watching the pair and wondering if they were courting. There was an obvious attraction and an unmistakable infatuation on Thomas’ side, but did Evelyn feel the same way? She found herself tempted to pry, but decided against it and focused on the topic at hand:<br/>
“Char, how often do you tidy his study?” Her eyes flicked to the governess, still a little shy after her heart-melting words.<br/>
“Nearly every day. He leaves that room a right mess. Why?”<br/>
“I need his signature for a few contracts.”<br/>
“What kind of contracts?”<br/>
“Contracts of employment.”<br/>
“We’re going to… that’s illegal!” Charlotte hissed under her breath, thoroughly appalled.<br/>
“So is pilfering and selling off stolen items. What mother, did you think we’d be picking daisies to bring to the ass the day we leave?”<br/>
“Could you stop calling him that?”<br/>
“No. I call it as I see it and he is surely the biggest <em>ass</em> I’ve ever seen. He’s an arrogant prig too.” Evelyn spared a glance to Thomas, who was biting his lap to restrain his laughter.<br/>
Charlotte scoffed and rolled her eyes in a very <em>Evelyn </em>way. Moira smiled at the resemblance, looking away once Charlotte’s sweet-but-extraordinarily-annoyed doe brown gaze caught her staring.<br/>
“Will you do it, mum?” Evelyn pressed, offering her mother a wholesome smile that did not seem natural on her mouth, especially for the request to commit treason.<br/>
“Yes, yes, I will. Once we leave, I want none of this, you hear! None of it.” Charlotte wagged her finger and the other three, shaking her head.<br/>
“ ‘Course. Anything else, Mister Ward?”<br/>
“We’ve got a week till they leave for Falmouth. I want to get most of this settled before then. We will have to find our own way to Falmouth as well.”<br/>
“I can handle that part.” Thomas spoke quickly, grinning deviously as he observed the room dotted with drunks-- some of which were now snoring. Moira’s mouth dropped open and she quirked one brow at Thomas.<br/>
“And just how would you be able to manage that by yourself?”<br/>
“You act like it’s the first time I’ve stolen a--.” <em>Smack! </em>“What? Nothin’.”<br/>
Charlotte looked rather crossly at Thomas and Moira blinked owlishly in his direction. Evelyn had a dangerous glare, her brows furrowed furiously.<br/>
“Listen, I’ll just hit the guy over the head before he sees me and I take the damn thing. I’ve done it before, bu’ for good reason! I’ll blend in the background, no one’ll notice me.”<br/>
“You do realize you’re twenty feet tall, right?” Moira chimed in just as Charlotte asked:<br/>
“Why did you take it the first time?”<br/>
Thomas paused, his arms still crossed. He answered with a shrug.<br/>
“Needed it for an import of alcohol. Didn’t want to bring all the way to the inn from Smeaton Pier, crate by crate.”<br/>
“Ah, and how far is that?”<br/>
“Three blocks.”<br/>
Charlotte shook her head but said nothing in return, clearly too appalled to respond.<br/>
“The last thing is something I can do. He wants us to get rid of his contract.”<br/>
“Just his? What about Captain Belroy’s?”<br/>
“Just his.” Moira repeated, giving Evelyn a worried glance.<br/>
The table went silent for a long moment, all four of them mulling over the tasks that lay ahead of them. Moira kept cycling over the promise she untruthfully made with Charlotte, feeling her stomach tie into knots at the thought of the danger. She wanted her governess as far away from all of these plans as possible, but she knew that she’d be the only one to retrieve what they needed from the study, without a chaperone.<br/>
“Oh, that clever bastard.” Evelyn simpered, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest.</p><p>“What is it?” Moira asked, taking a sip of water and shamefully wishing it was more drink. Her head started to ache from analyzing the logistics of the entire plan.<br/>
“Well, it turns out that Hector does a little more than map-charting aboard that ship.”<br/>
“What do you mean?”<br/>
“The men respect him a fair bit-- <em>some </em>enough to follow him blindly.”<br/>
“That matters why?”<br/>
Evelyn crossed her arms and scoffed in annoyance.<br/>
“What happens when the crew respects a pirate more than the  naval captain?”<br/>
“He’s not a pirate!” Charlotte insisted.<br/>
“He sailed with a privateer. He might not be a pirate yet, but he’s well on his way to becoming one. Look at what he’s willing to do for us.” Moira added, finally catching on to what Evelyn was saying.<br/>
Moira sat back, trying to fit the pieces together. Slowly but surely, the puzzle began to fall into place in her mind. She recalled their very first conversation, when Hector admitted something that now seemed very damning:<br/>
“When we first talked, he told me he was going to captain a ship of his own soon.”<br/>
“And now he wants only <em>his </em>contract taken from the manor.” Evelyn added, both girls exchanging a foreboding look.<br/>
“He’s going to lead a mutiny.”<br/>
“ How’d ya jump to that conclusion?”<br/>
Evelyn grinned wickedly at Thomas’ question, a coy smirk pulling up the corner of her mouth.<br/>
“Those two idiots I just talked to basically told me as much. They know he wants to be captain, he’s been going on and on to them about how incompetent Belroy is. They trust him. They trust his judgment implicitly.”<br/>
Moira turned around, searching the crowd once more to find the subjects of their conversation. Barbossa, Belroy, and the two crewmates Evelyn chatted up now sat together a few tables away.  The captain spoke exuberantly to the blonde barmaid, who looked entirely too bored with the man, while Hector polished off the entire fifth of whiskey in his possession. Before his last swig, his sharp gaze honed in on the raven-haired ward. He lifted his bottle towards her with a smirk and swallowed the remainder of the fire liquid, turning to interrupt Belroy’s sonnet.<br/>
“Don’t go telling him yet. Let him <em>think </em>he has us under his thumb. We’ll use it as leverage at the <em>opportune moment</em>.”<br/>
“I don’t like any of this.” Charlotte whispered shakily, taking another drink of water to try to calm her nerves.<br/>
The four of them peered at the map-charter across the way, all with many questions rolling through their minds. Could they do this? Would they help a man who had one foot in the door of piracy? Better yet, would they even survive it?<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p><br/>
The hour was late, and their conversation dwindled to tired prattlings. Charlotte had long since been escorted home by Thomas, while Evelyn and Moira were busy chatting about what they’d do when they finally left St. Ives between the barmaid’s rounds. Evelyn was convinced Thomas and her would sail together for a few years before settling down, while Moira had very little idea of what she’d do afterward. It was hard to imagine a life away from St. Ives-- the only one she’d known for so long. She liked to think that one day she could return to The Isle of Skye, but the likelihood of that after breaking the law and betraying Magnus was very slim. Once Thomas returned, he offered Moira an escort home, to which she obliged after having a drink too many with the young Blackwood.<br/>
She slumped over his large back, arms wrapped around his neck and her chin resting on his left shoulder. His hands were on her shins, sure to not hold onto anything as improper as her thighs. In her drunkenness, her curiosity about Thomas Bligh and his relation to the Blackwoods got the better of her.<br/>
“Thomas, how did you meet Evelyn?”<br/>
A deep rumble of a chuckle erupted from his throat as he carried her along the dark alleyway, ignoring the odd looks from the common strumpets and drunk sailors.<br/>
“I knew of ‘er long before I met ‘er personally. Evie was the pretty lass who lived down the street from me, but I was busy takin’ care of my sick sister to try anythin’ anyway.”<br/>
“I didn’t know you have a sister.”<br/>
“Had. Anabel passed away a long while ago now. We were orphaned when we were young. Only had each other to depend on.”<br/>
“I’m sorry.”<br/>
“It’s a’right. Anabel’s not sufferin’ anymore; that’s all I can ask fer.” </p><p>Thomas and Moira shared a moment of silence, her head bobbing with his long strides.<br/>
“ I first met little Evie in the forest while I was cutting wood fer a few of the homes nearby. Wood-cuttin’ and crate-haulin’ paid me well enough to keep the doctor comin’ and a roof over Ana’s head. Evelyn was muckin’ about in a freshwater stream there, filling up two buckets to carry on her own. I thought it’d not be right to let her walk home alone, with all that water to carry. Usually, a lass like that has their father or someone with ‘er, but Evie was all alone. Not that she minded, anyhow. She was prattlin’ on and on to herself ‘bout some wild notion of becomin’ a pirate captain. She was an odd one, still is if ya ask me. I were ‘round ‘bouts thirteen at that time, makin’ her eleven?”<br/>
Moira smiled, envisioning the brunette up to her knees in a mucky stream, trying to gather water whilst narrating her wild ideas for the future.<br/>
“I followed ‘er home, bit too shy to offer my presence directly. Well, she’d noticed me tailin’ her. One second, she was a good distance in fron’ of me, and the next, she was gone. I panicked, thought a wild animal or someone took ‘er clean under my nose. I was lookin’ round fer her, unable to spot ‘er till she whirled a whole bloody bucket o’ water at my head. She whapped me a good once or twice with the damned thing too afore takin’ off. I stood there, drenched to the bone and sore as hell, just watchin’ her run off. That was when I knew.”<br/>
“Knew what?”<br/>
“I was mad fer ‘er.”<br/>
Moira scrunched her nose and brows up, letting out a small laugh.<br/>
“You fell in love with her because she beat you?”<br/>
“Nay. T’were her fiery spirit that made me fall hard fer her. There’s somethin’ to say about a wee lass like that, takin’ on a big oaf like me. After tha’, I made a point to follow her to and from the forest-- I got a few good bruises from it too. I didn’t care. I’d just do it again the next time and the next. I started leaving a pile of wood at her doorstep to keep ‘er hearth goin’ too. I think that’s when she realized I weren’t a danger to ‘er. I remember the day we first talked because she gave me a real fierce look and said: ‘Are ye ever gonna grow a pair and talk to me or you just gonna creep behind me like that my whole life?’ ”<br/>
Moira snorted another laugh, shaking her head at the idea of an eleven-year-old Evelyn, as smart as a whip and just as fierce as she’d be as an adult.<br/>
“So you’ve known her for a long time. Are you two…?” Moira trailed off, and Thomas grinned wolfishly, knowing where the next question was heading.<br/>
“Asked ‘er mum when I was sixteen if I could court her. She gave me permission, and I’ve been by Evie’s side ever since.”<br/>
“You must really love her.”<br/>
“Oh yeah, I’d die fer ‘er.”<br/>
Moira smiled softly and placed an affectionate hand on his pale hair, roughing it up a bit.<br/>
“I hope I find a man who loves me that much one day.”<br/>
“Ye will just don’t be too stubborn to see it. Well, this is it, lass.”<br/>
He shuffled up to the gates, staying just out of sight of the manor while he bent down to let her slip off his back.<br/>
“Do ye need me to help you to the door?”<br/>
“No, I’ll be alright. Thank you for sharing your little love story with me, Thomas Bligh.”<br/>
He gave her a crooked smirk and watched her as she flopped over the gates to Magnus Manor rather ungracefully.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p><em><br/>
</em> <em> The sound of waves crashing against rock. The comforting scent of brine and aquatic weeds, the tickle of the sea breeze. Grains of sand stuck in her hair, in her clothes, and between her toes. It’s chilly, but she can’t find a reason to care. She’s home.</em><em><br/>
</em> <em>She opens her eyes, blinking at the gray sky and the rolling hills. In front of her stands a woman. Beautiful and dark, her hair falls in thick dreads over her shoulders. With each gliding step, her hips sway, and the heart-shaped pendant clinks against strands of beads hanging from her neck. Her lamp-like eyes beckon Moira forward, like the beacon-beam of a lighthouse to a sailor in a vicious storm. The sky broods heavy, growing darker the closer the young woman gets to the stranger. Thunder roars above them, and lightning strikes the distant waters. A long forsaken lullaby laments from the locket hanging from the dark woman’s neck. Moira’s gaze flutters to it and back to the woman’s face, watching her painted mouth crack into a smile.</em><em><br/>
</em> <em>“Who are you?” </em></p><p><em>“I am all you want and what you’ve never known. I am what calls you to the deep and dark waters.” </em><em><br/>
</em><em>Her voice is low and coaxing, her accent thick with a tribal dialect Moira is not familiar with. The soft tune lulls Moira into a tranquil, hypnotic state. </em><em><br/>
</em> <em>“I don’t understand.”</em><em><br/>
</em> <em>“Not yet, you don’t.” </em><em><br/>
</em> <em>“Will I ever?” The dark beauty’s face fell, replaced by a more severe visage.</em><em><br/>
</em> <em>“You need to hear her, leanabh mara. Follow her whispers and she will set you free. Turn away from her and you’ll become her.”</em></p><p><em>“Who? Who do I follow? I don’t understand.”</em><em><br/>
</em><em>A heavy frown pulls at the woman’s mouth. The sky grows darker with each passing second, and a soft spatter of rain trickle over the pair.</em><em><br/>
</em> <em>“He’s coming for you, leanabh mara. Find her, and you will know.”</em><em><br/>
</em> <em>“Who’s coming?”</em><em><br/>
</em><em>The face begins to morph before her eyes. What was once black diamonds turn to muted hazel irises. Her hair shrinks back and softens into gentle waves of pale gold. Slowly but surely, the woman in front of her is encapsulated by the rumbles of a storm and ravaging waters. She can’t turn away. Moira walks forward, meeting the waves head-on. It tugs at her, calling her to its fathomless depths-- to the peace that only comes with death. </em><em><br/>
</em><em>It’s dark now-- too dark to be Skye and too quiet to be a storm. Echoes of tears reverberate all around Moira. </em><em><br/>
</em> <em>“Where am I?” She whispers as she scans the near pitch-black of space. The wails of a woman continue, growing louder with each passing moment. </em><em><br/>
</em> <em>“Hello?” She calls again, and the woman lets out a scream of a cry. Moira jumps and curls her arms around her torso. She walks forward without knowing where she may end up. </em><em><br/>
</em><em>One. </em><em><br/>
</em><em>Two. </em><em><br/>
</em><em>Three paces and she can see it—a silhouette, barely visible in the inky dark of their surroundings. One more step forward, and Moira finds what she was searching for. A specter of a woman, so frail and gaunt she seemed more a skeleton than a living being. She’s standing there, shoulders hunched and shaking with tears. Dread piles in her guts and up her throat, nearly choking the breath from her. </em><em><br/>
</em> <em>“What’s wrong? What’s happened to you?”</em><em><br/>
</em> <em>“Find my son.”</em><em><br/>
</em> <em>“Your son?”</em><em><br/>
</em> <em>“Leave this place.” </em><em><br/>
</em><em>Suddenly, the woman is close-- so close Moira feels her breath on her face. A putrid, heavy smell is in the air, up her nose, down her throat, and all around her. Moira lets out a choked gag and tries to back away. The woman stays just as close, barely breathing. Moira peers at the woman with her brows knitted in concentration. She wants to see her, wants to know her.</em><em><br/>
</em> <em>“Who are you?”</em><em><br/>
</em> <em>The face hones in on her now, alighting with the flicker of a flame. Her eyes are glassy and dull. Her cheeks are hollow, and her mouth is withered and stuck agape. Moira can feel her heartbeat-- she can hear its thrum pounding in her ears. Her eyes trail down, falling upon a blossom of purple, black and blue over the woman’s throat.</em><em><br/>
</em><em> Fingerprints.</em><em><br/>
</em><em> The shape of a large hand clasped over her airways. </em><em><br/>
</em><em>The woman tries to speak, but all that comes out is a dry groan. Moira’s eyes travel lower, catching the glint of a gold chain hanging from her bruised neck. She reaches for the necklace, and she finds its smooth, oval pendant hanging over the woman’s sternum. </em><em><br/>
</em><em>The metal is burning hot. </em><em><br/>
</em><em>Suddenly, the woman pulls away, and the whole world begins to spin. She hears metal scraping metal before clicking into place. </em></p><p><em><br/>
</em> When Moira opened her eyes next, the cavernous ceiling of her bed-chamber greeted her. Her heart thudded against her ribcage over and over, and she pressed a hand over it, panting heavily. The morning peeked through closed curtains, a thin stream of light filtering into the bed-chamber. She threw the covers off and curled up against the headboard, scanning the room for any foreign presence. The room remained quiet and undisturbed.<br/>
“What the bloody hell was that?” She asked no one in particular, playing with the chain around her neck. <em>‘The chain.’ </em>Her eyes trailed down to her chest, to the oval pendant staring right back at her. Moira could’ve sworn she threw the damn thing between her mattress and the bedframe after stumbling home from the inn. How did it end up around her neck in the middle of the night? An icy prickle of fear slithered up her spine and over her tight throat. <em>‘What if something is here?’ </em>Moving cautious and slow, Moira got to her knees, leaned over the edge of the bed, and peered under it. Her hair swept over the ground as she hung upside down, seeing nothing but the floor and the space on the other side of the bed. The sound of the door opening caused her to lose her balance and melt onto the floor headfirst with a startled yelp.<br/>
“Well, good morning, Miss Moira.” Charlotte’s voice greeted her as her legs flopped over her head and thumped onto the ground, her nightdress ruffled up to her hips.<br/>
“Good morning.” Moira deadpanned, staring up at the ceiling and refusing to move from her position on the floor.</p><p>“The Lord wants to spend the day with you and Lady Cardy.”<br/>
Moira let out a plaintive groan, throwing an arm over her eyes.<br/>
“Tell him I died.”<br/>
“Somehow, I don’t think he’d believe that.”</p><p>“No, probably not.”<br/>
“Come on then. Let’s get you up and dressed.”</p><p>Moira let out another whine and shifted to her side, slowly making her way up to standing. She shuffled to the corner of the room, preparing herself for the grueling process of tightening her stays and pulling knots out of her hair. It was going to be a long day.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
After a quick but otherwise surprisingly pleasant breakfast with Magnus and Lady Alice, they all decided to retire to the dusty parlor. Charlotte took a wet rag to the surfaces before they entered, wiping clean the signs of an untouched room. It was one of the brightest rooms in the house, with pale-painted wood-panel walls and three east-facing windows that allowed the late morning sun to beam in. A deep crimson, ornately designed rug created an elegant air about the space, and Moira found herself wondering why they didn’t spend more time in there. Lady Alice suggested Moira practice her hand on the pianoforte sitting by the window. The ward was hesitant and a bit shy at first but found herself perched on the stool in front of the set of ivory keys nonetheless. <br/>
“I’m not fond of the situation, Walter.” Lady Alice began, scrutinizing Moira from her position on the settee across from her. Moira tripped up on a few keys, nervous under the judgment of such a blatant woman. “You took in a girl who lived like a sea-urchin, only to dress her up and groom her to be your wife?”<br/>
“It’s not unheard of.”<br/>
“Of course, it’s not unheard of. I just didn’t want to hear of it happening in our family. It’s not right, mixing the blood of a noble with a <em>peasant.</em>”<br/>
Moira’s pinky finger slipped once more, although this time it was due to irritation rather than nerves.<br/>
“Plus, she hardly seems to have a mind of her own. I thought you liked women who spoke their minds. I thought you’d find some maybe more like…”<br/>
“Like who? Like Elsie?” Magnus spat, his arms crossed as he stared out the window from his plush, high-backed chair. “You see where that got me. Ran off with another man.”<br/>
Magnus' voice rose a few octaves at the end and cracked, causing Moira to knit her brows together in suspicion. Something was off.<br/>
“Well, maybe if you didn’t hold her hostage in her own home--”<br/>
Moira’s eyes widened, and she froze in place at Lady Alice’s words.<br/>
<em>‘He’s done this before.’ </em> <em><br/>
</em> “I hardly say I held her hostage. I was merely protecting her from the--”<br/>
“Protecting her? From what? The swarms of seagulls flying over this city of rats?!”<br/>
“We live in a port town, Alice! Sailors aren’t against taking what they haven’t been offered.”<br/>
“Ohhh, no. No, no! Don’t you feed me that line, Walter Magnus. You wanted her all to herself. Didn’t trust her before she ever had a chance to prove she was faithful.”<br/>
“Well, she wasn’t!”</p><p>“And you think this one will be with how you’ve locked her up too?!”<br/>
Their voices were growing louder and louder, and Moira’s pulse ramped up. She spared a glance at Charlotte, who stood silently in the corner, hands clasped together. She gave Moira a warning look before flicking her eyes to the door and back. Moira shook her head, to which Charlotte sighed softly and shifted in her spot, refusing to leave without Moira.<br/>
“Well, continue playing, girl!” Alice hissed, giving the ward a severely contemptuous glare.<br/>
Moira did as instructed with a sneer on her face, continuing where she left off. Her fingers moved mechanically, her ears hardly picking up the keys she hit. Something was off about his voice when he said Elsie ran off with another man. She drowned out the sound of their bickering, becoming entranced with her own thoughts about what he just unknowingly revealed.<br/>
Thoughts of the strange apparition she felt near the locked room riddled her mind. Why did the locket keep appearing to her? Why did it grow hot when near the locked room?<br/>
A vision of her dream pulled her deeper into a trance, so much so that she stopped playing altogether.<br/>
<em>“What’s wrong? What’s happened to you?”</em><em><br/>
</em> <em>“Find my son.”</em><em><br/>
</em> <em>“Your son?”</em><em><br/>
</em> <em>“Leave this place.” </em><em><br/>
</em> <em>Fingerprints on her throat. </em><em><br/>
</em> Moira peered over her shoulder at Magnus, sitting there waving his finger in Alice’s direction as he yelled. <em>‘Just how far did you go to keep what you had?’ </em>She thought, her eyes narrowing a fraction. Within seconds, his steel, serpentine eyes pierced through her, and Moira wondered if he could see the unanswered question in her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
After a time, the Lord and his aunt miraculously calmed down-- primarily because Magnus escaped into his study once he grew tired of the lady’s constant yammering. Moira found it to be the perfect time to question Lady Alice about his wife and her whereabouts.<br/>
“How long has she been gone?” She found herself settled in the chair Magnus once sat in, holding a cup of tea that Charlotte brought the two women mere minutes ago. Lady Alice peered at her with her dark, sharp eyes, and Moira fought not to shrink under her stare visibly.<br/>
“A little over a decade now. Why do you ask?”<br/>
Moira busied herself with stirring her tea, watching as the milky substance swirled with the motion of her spoon.<br/>
“I came here twelve years ago. The Lord never once mentioned her to me.”<br/>
“He didn’t talk much about her after she left him for another man. He made a point not to. I can’t blame him, I suppose.”<br/>
Lady Alice shifted in her seat, crossing her ankles while her gaze trailed out the window.<br/>
“Did he act possessive with her?” <em><br/>
</em> “He wouldn’t let her go anywhere without him. So she started sneaking out during his meetings.”<br/>
Moira’s eyes widened, and she blanched at the parallels between her and his past wife.<br/>
“What was her name?”<br/>
“Elsie Magnus. They had a son together. His name was Oliver Magnus.”<br/>
Moira flicked her eyes directly to Lady Alice’s, her next question on the tip of her tongue. She warred with herself, trying to discern whether asking about him would cross the line she so delicately toed. The wish to know of the strange little boy with the sad face and the eyes of Magnus won out.<br/>
“What happened to him? Where is he now?”<br/>
Lady Alice’s eyes softened uncharacteristically, and she shook her head.<br/>
“Well, he disappeared along with his mother.”<br/>
The next question she dared not ask:<br/>
<em>‘Did Magnus kill his wife and only child?’</em> <em><br/>
<br/>
</em></p><p>Moira waited till the moon met its apex in the sky to begin her night of gathering her belongings together. She picked out the easiest items to sell off, piling the majority of her dresses onto her bed. Next, Moira took as much jewelry as she could from what Magnus gifted her over the years, only leaving behind pieces she could circulate for the next few days. A strange feeling settled in her chest, like her heart was being simultaneously squeezed up her throat and pulled down into her stomach. This was the beginning of the end, only now she could see the end she craved in sight. Somehow, that very idea evoked a sense of deep sorrow for leaving a piece of her past behind. Numbly, she held up a set of amethyst and gold earrings she hardly wore, the vague memory of Magnus gifting them to her sitting on the edge of her mind. <em>‘If he could only see how much he drives people away.’ </em>She thought, shaking her head while recalling the vulnerable moment Magnus had with her the night before. It was strange, feeling empathy and insurmountable hate for someone who she once believed would be a father to her. How could she see a sliver of goodness in him while hoping he’d rot in hell for his sins?<br/>
At one point in life, she would’ve considered herself lucky to live in Magnus Manor. She would’ve counted herself blessed to have someone who cared about her after being abandoned by her mother. Now, Moira felt torn between wanting to leave immediately and wishing things had been different so she could stay. There was a difference between satisfying her rebellious nature by visiting a tavern in the dead of night and travelling halfway across the world to get away from a place she grew up in. Moira wondered where it all went wrong in Magnus’ life to turn him into such a monster and why he chose to inflict it all on her and Charlotte. The young ward sat heavily on her bed, staring at the pouch of jewelry and the numerous gowns. She hoped that this would be enough.<br/>
Creeping down the corridor to the servants entrance was difficult with a bag full of jewelry and a pile of dresses in her arms. She tripped up a few times, nearly falling flat on her face. Once she inched closer to the locked room, Moira took to sliding her back against the opposing wall, staring wide-eyed and petrified at the space the door occupied. Her fear got the best of her when she stepped a little too close to the room and goosebumps rose over her entire body. In an instant, Moira spun on her heel and high-tailed it to the winding staircase leading to her exit. <em>‘Get Thomas, just get to Thomas.’ </em>She repeated over and over, abandoning the dresses and trinket on top of one the crates by the door. Moira burst through the West Wing servants entrance, taking the deepest breath of fresh air she’d taken all day.<br/>
<br/>
“Ack! Bloody hell, woman, what is it?”<br/>
Thomas spluttered, nearly jumping out of his skin when Moira leapt over the gates and nearly tackled him to the ground in her panicked flurry.<br/>
“Where is everything ye needed help with?”<br/>
“Come with me, I need help packing it and carrying it out.”<br/>
“Woah, woah, woah. Into the manor? Me?”<br/>
Moira had him by both arms, trying to tug him towards the gates and making very little progress.<br/>
“Please, Thomas. I’m scared of being alone in there. Everything is right by the door. We just need to pack it into a crate and leave.”<br/>
Thomas gave her a quizzical look, let out a defeated growl and let her pull him toward the gate.<br/>
“If we get caught, lass--” </p><p>“We’re not going to get caught. Everyone is asleep and no one stays in the West Wing with me. Just stay quiet and keep your head down. We’ll be out before you know it.”<br/>
“Whatever ye say.”<br/>
Walking along the path to Magnus Manor, Thomas seemed to shrink the closer he got.<br/>
“I don’t like the feeling of this bloody place.” He whispered to the small woman beside him, who had wound both her arms around his forearm.<br/>
“I don’t like the feeling of <em>living </em>in this bloody place.” Moira retorted, smirking at him softly.<br/>
“ Yeah, I wouldn’t like that much neither.”<br/>
The hulking male and his petite, dark-haired counterpart stared at the feeble wooden door leading into the West Wing. Moira took in a sharp inhale and grit her teeth, letting go of Thomas’ arm and stepping over to it. The door opened with a quiet creak and Moira snuck in, peering up the narrow staircase. The silhouette of the very same woman from the night prior stood at the top of the steps, causing Moira’s stomach to drop. <em>‘Thomas is right here. Just get what you need and get out.’ </em>She thought, biting her trembling lip to stave off a panicked reaction. She knew he couldn’t see her from his position outside and the last thing she wanted was to frighten Thomas into abandoning her. Not to mention, Moira had an inkling this woman was Magnus’ wife, in whatever degree of existence she’d be in. Never taking her eyes off the gaunt body watching her, Moira reached for the bag and the clothing, handing each to Thomas. He took them while Moira dragged out an open-top crate from the bottom of the steps. Thomas piled the items in and hoisted the crate with ease, starting down the pathway. Moira quietly closed the door on the gaunt woman, letting out a quaking breath when she turned the key to lock it.<br/>
“What were ye starin’ at, Moira?” Thomas whispered, giving her a concerned glance from the corner of his eye. The two made their way down the stone-adorned dirt pathway and Moira scanned the perimeter of the courtyard, lingering on the greenery dotting the green grass.<br/>
“ They never found his wife, did they, Thomas?”<br/>
“No… why?”</p><p>Moira bit her lip, her brows turning up in the center. She toyed with the hat in her hand and she blew a curl flopping in front of her face.<br/>
“I have an inkling that you may have been right after all. I think Magnus did something to her.”<br/>
Thomas visibly shivered and peered over his shoulder at the intimidating manor. The full moon cast an eerie glow over the abode and the shadows of Magnus Manor stretched out towards them, threatening to drag them back inside. What Thomas did not see was one set of eyes staring down at their retreating forms from the East Wing.<br/>
<br/>
Thomas left her at the stoop of The Sloop Inn, telling her to go grab a drink to calm her nerves while he took the items to the Blackwood’s home. Moira found herself torn between wanting some time alone and truly, desperately wanting the relief of a buzz. Listening to the call for the sting of whiskey, Moira found herself sliding through the door, eyes wandering over the packed room. She bee-lined to the bar where Evelyn stood, chatting up one of the patrons who’d taken a liking to her. With both bandaged hands tucked into her pockets, Moira tipped her chin down and strode up to the bar.<br/>
“A bit of whiskey, miss, if you have it.” </p><p>Her voice dropped a few octaves in a semi-convincing boyish tone. Evelyn glanced over at her with a vaguely bored look, although the humor of knowing something others don’t danced in her eyes.<br/>
“Comin’ right up, love.”<br/>
<br/>
Evelyn set out a snifter and poured the fire-liquid from a glass bottle, her doe brown orbs on Moira.<br/>
“Did Thomas get things sorted?” She asked, the liquid tapering off as she lifted it away from the cup.<br/>
Moira simply nodded, sliding the drink off the bar top and lifting it in a semi-toast.<br/>
“I’m going to get some fresh air.” </p><p>The young woman donned in a lad’s garb stood on the wharf, letting the ocean breeze brush over her skin. Her thoughts were restless, cycling over their impending departure and all she had learned about Magnus’ in such a short amount of time. It felt as if she were living a horrible fever dream and she wished she could finally wake up from it. Soon, she imagined she would wake, once they successfully escaped and she could claim her life as her own. Taking in a deep breath, Moira set her drink down and stretched her arms overhead with a soft groan. Her eyes traveled to the merchant schooner anchored nearby, a small smile on her face. She imagined Barbossa was resting in his cabins for the night, completely unaware of her presence. She wondered, with mounting hope, just what lay in store for her once she boarded that ship. For the first time in twelve years, Moira felt thankful for being completely and utterly alone to watch the ocean.<br/>
<br/>
It wasn’t till the sun was an hour from rising that the ward returned home. She spent much of the night in her own company, allowing herself the simple pleasure of being lost in thought whilst staring at the waves. She snuck down the corridor, completely unaware of what was to come. Moira hurried into her room, clicking the door shut behind her. When she turned, her stomach dropped and her breath hitched in her throat. Standing at the hearth was the shadow of Walter Magnus and when he turned to face her, his silvery eyes had the look of murder in them.<br/>
“Nice to see you’ve made it back.”<br/>
The ward said nothing, her words stuck in utter shock as primal fear took its hold. Her whole body buzzed and an icy feeling in her throat left her completely frozen. All she could hear was the sound of her heart thumping rapidly against her chest.  His expression was one she had never seen before, not even in his angriest moments. He seemed utterly devoid of any trace of human, with his pupils dilated wide and jaw set stony. Her vision blurred as she took a step back, finally remembering to heave a loud breath. In seconds, he was on her, pinning her against the door with his large fingers wrapped around her throat.<br/>
“Oh, you don’t get away that easily, Moira.”<br/>
His eyes were stone-cold but his nostrils flared and his brows knitted harshly together.<br/>
“Who was he?”<br/>
Moira wheezed, her hands clawing at his to try to find a breath. There would be no way to form words with him bearing down on her airways.<br/>
“Was he a lover, perhaps? One you didn’t want me to know about?” He shook her a bit, causing her to let out another strangled gasp.<br/>
She tried to shake her head but his grip was too strong. A few tears rolled down her cheeks as her mouth set agape, waiting, pleading for but a single breath.<br/>
“Oh, I may have hit my mark.” He brushed a tear off her cheek, his thin mouth lilting into a mocking grin.<br/>
“How long, Moira? How long have you been sneaking out?!” He spat, a flicker of wild rage passing over him as he bared down even harder. Black spots formed in her vision, dancing threateningly close to unconsciousness and death. She mouthed the word ‘ please’ over and over, her knees buckling beneath her. Her mind was a blank slate, her thoughts set solely on the fact that this indeed would be her final moments. Mere inches away from her freedom, Moira would die under the crushing weight of Magnus’ possession. Just as the sounds around her dulled and her face teetered on the edge of purple, he let her go. Moira collapsed immediately and inhaled as much oxygen as she could, coughing and choking while she rubbed at her throat. Her mind was a whirlwind and Moira hardly had a chance to come to grips with what was happening. Her relief was short-lived when he took a fistful of her hair in his hand, bursting through the door and dragging her down the hall. She could hardly scream at first while she tried to recover from the lack of breath. One cry successfully ripped through her as soon as they turned the corner, heading in the direction of the locked room. </p><p>He hurled Moira into the abyssal room, sending her rolling across the floor with a whimper.<br/>
“Get in there!”<br/>
He growled before slamming the door shut, completely enveloping her in darkness.  A putrid, sickeningly sweet odor overwhelmed her nostrils. Bile rose in her throat and she wretched, spilling the contents of her stomach onto the floor. She looked around in the darkness, panic striking her like a viper as reality set in. Moira was in the locked room, the place where she saw the strange specter, the place she feared most. Magnus was beyond the point of rage and well into the depths of deadly violence. A gasp of a sob ripped from her throat and she crumpled to the floor.<br/>
She waited.<br/>
<br/>
Hours ticked by and Moira could do nothing but cry and shake.<br/>
<em>‘Please don’t let this be the end.’ </em>She thought, the memories of the past few days flooding in. Where did it go wrong? She was nearly out. Over the span of three minutes, Magnus had her in his deadliest trap of all. He had chewed up her hope and spit it out, leaving her nothing but ruins. Her swollen eyes scanned fervently over the room, searching for any small semblance of movement. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she stood and held her hands out, searching for the door. Her hand trailed the wall and she started leaning heavily onto it, on the verge of hyperventilating. Once she reached the corner of the room, her hands found something unlike the cold stone wall. Soft strands brushed her finger tips and her heart suddenly stopped, before thudding against her ribcage again in quick succession. Her hands continued their path until she felt a tight, flesh-like texture. A few more inches and she quickly realized it was someone’s face. Moira let out a blood curdling scream and turned, ramming against the wall as she searched frantically for the locked door.<br/>
“Let me out of here!” she screamed, finally finding the wooden, shifting door.<br/>
“Let me out!” Her fist slammed as hard as strength would let her into the door and she turned every so often, praying she would not see a face inches from hers. After what felt like hours but was likely on thirty minutes, the door opened and Moira tried to push her way through the door. A hand reached in and shoved her hard, knocking her down onto the floor.<br/>
The hulking form advanced on his ward with murder in his steps until a familiar, shuttering voice cut in:<br/>
“Get away from her!”<br/>
Magnus whirled around, his predatory, crazed gaze honing in on the source of the voice. The silhouette stood at the door, one mangled hand held close to her face. His face contorted into an evil, vehement fury at the sight of her.<br/>
“<em>You!</em> This is your fault!” He bellowed, spit flying in his rage.<br/>
  In two strides, he had her.<br/>
With his powerful grip, she dangled in the air by her dress.<br/>
Moira watched her feet kick about, aimless and desperate.<br/>
A strangled scream ripped from the throat of the governess. The brush of metal reverberated through the room. A squelching, cracking sound muted her cries instantly. Two more squelches, two more gasps and the same dull thud was all Moira could hear. Gurgling rasps of breath escaped the suspended woman. With one final, guttural growl, Magnus let go of her. She crumpled to the ground with a thump, unmoving. The room grew darker in the shadow of the door. Metal ground against metal before clicking into place. She was trapped and the beast had left, for now.<br/>
Moira staggered to stand, willing herself not to throw up and the room spun around her.  She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, but her body willed her forward. She toppled in front of Charlotte and waited. Waited for her to move.<br/>
Waited for her to breathe.<br/>
Seconds felt like hours and the room still spun.<br/>
Finally, a breath told Moira she was still with her.<br/>
“C-charlotte.” Moira whispered in desperation, her hands suddenly all over the governess.<br/>
She felt her tense, sweaty arms and her tear-streaked face. No words, only choked, wet breaths came from Charlotte.<br/>
“Charlotte, please.” Moira’s voice wavered and rose, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. The only woman who could come close to replacing her mother lay in her arms, struggling for every single breath.<br/>
Her hands trailed to the woman’s abdomen and she felt the wet holes of her dress.  Charlotte let out a gurgling cough. Sticky, thick liquid dribbled from the corner of her small mouth.<br/>
<em>“Can you promise me something?”</em><br/>
“No. No, no, no. God damn it, no!” </p><p> Her hands were covered in red-hot liquid and she grappled Charlotte’s shoulders, spreading it on her pale maid’s dress.<br/>
“We were almost there, please! You can’t… you can’t--”<br/>
<em> “Promise me you won’t blame yourself for what he did to me anymore.” </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> “ </em> Charlotte, you can’t die here!”<br/>
Another breath and a shudder.<br/>
“Char-? Charlotte? Charlotte?!” Moira began shaking her shoulders, trying to rattle out another breath. <em> ‘Just one more. Just one more breath, please.’ </em> Moira begged, trying with all her might to ignore the memory of their conversation two nights prior. Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision of her governess. She wiped at them wildly,  petrified that if she lost sight of the woman for even a second she’d disappear completely. <em><br/>
</em> “Charlotte, say something. Help me! I don’t know what to do!”<br/>
<em> “Do you promise?” </em> <em><br/>
</em> “I don’t know what to do without you!”<br/>
<em> “Do you promise?” </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> ‘No.’  </em></p><p>“I-I can’t. Not without you.”<br/>
The room grew quiet as Charlotte bled out on the dirty, cold floor. Moira hugged tightly to her, burrowing her face into her chest and waited for another beat of her heart.<br/>
Nothing came. </p><p>The ward rasped a sob, curling into a tiny ball next to Charlotte. She clutched her torso with both arms, certain that if she were to let go she would tear apart at the seams.<br/>
“Please, don’t leave me. I’m so sorry. Please, don’t leave me.”<br/>
One shaking hand reached for the governess.<br/>
Metal on metal, the door swung open.<br/>
Vague, dim light illuminated the locked room.<br/>
Her eyes trailed up to Charlotte’s empty, cloudy brown eyes. Blood was smeared on her face, trickling from her mouth and pooling around her.<br/>
“Charlotte, please! I’m sorry!” She wrapped her arm over Charlotte’s corpse, pulling her in close.<br/>
“I love you, I love you. Please, stay with me. I can’t do this alone.” She whispered over and over, smoothing one hand over the sticky, soaked hair.<br/>
His heavy boots stormed through the threshold of the door.<br/>
“Get up, you snivelling bitch.”</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chrysalis (The Locked Room)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N: I’m here, I know, I’m constantly a few days late from my deadline date. I’m so sorry! I’m going to start giving myself tentative dates, one that I want to be done on and another to be the absolute latest posting date. I promise it’ll get better, these chapters are just knocking me on my arse. It’s not that I’m lacking inspiration, it’s the bloody content in it.<br/>For AO3: Yooo, so the picture is an edit of Moira’s pic from artbreeder.com. This is not how she really looks, lol, I just found it inspiring to edit her scar in and make things all sad and dark. If you want to see her picture, look for Possession of the Heart: Character Information under my works (on Archive of Our Own).<br/>	This one has another trigger warning, graphic depiction of abuse and death are in this chapter. The entirety of this chapter is VERY heavy, but it is definitely necessary in shaping the story and the characters in it. If you find that you can’t bear reading this one, please pm or comment. If needed, I can write a summary for this chapter. I’m warning you right now. <br/>	Things will get underway soon and Hector will soon take a permanent place on stage with everyone else. I hope you are willing to be patient for that.  <br/>	Also, I have a lot of songs I listen to for my chapters. If you want a playlist, let me know and I can start posting a list of songs I listened to while writing each chapter. <br/>	Thanks for the support and uh… good luck.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <b>Chapter Nine- Chrysalis (The Locked Room)</b>
</p><p><b><em>“Get up, you sniveling bitch.” </em></b><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span><br/></span></em> <span>Moira let out a rasp of a sob, hardly hearing his voice. She kept her bleary eyes trained on Charlotte’s void face, the agony of the loss ripping into her relentlessly. </span> <span><br/></span> <span>“I said, get up!” His hand was in her hair once again, dragging her from the motionless body. Moira kicked and screamed, one hand clutching his to relieve the tearing sensation in her scalp. Magnus switched to grab her by the front of her nightgown this time, giving a back-handed blow to her face that sent her reeling. Her face tore open a second time, centimeters below the scar he left a year prior. Her head lolled back and a choked exhale escaped before the tears bloomed fresh from her eyes. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Shut up. You did this yourself.” He hissed in her ear coldly. Moria let out another whimper and he sent an open-handed strike over the other side of her face. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Be silent!”</span><span><br/></span> <span>The ward couldn’t help the cries coming from her, less so reacting to the physical pain than the fact that Charlotte had died in her arms moments ago. </span><span><br/></span> <span>In mere minutes, the woman faded from existence, leaving the hollow shell of the woman who raised her.</span><span><br/></span> <span>Magnus let out a seething snarl and gripped her throat again, driving her backward till her head bounced off the stone wall from the sheer force of his ire. Moira clutched at his hands again, gaping and taking in very little oxygen. It was then her eyes landed back on Charlotte and her face contorted with heady grief.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“You shut up, or I’ll kill you too!” </span><span><br/></span> <span>Her flooded eyes found his animalistic, sweat-slickened visage again. She pressed her head hard against the wall in an attempt to get away, one of her legs working between them to put some pace between the two. Magnus relented, watching her crumple into a heap of breaths and tears. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Stand up.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>She scrambled to her feet, leaning heavily on the wall with her hands cupping her throat. She could feel her mind retreating into itself, disconnecting far enough that Moira could hardly recognize the present moment. The bloody puddle Charlotte sat in, the angry monster ready to thrash her, and the small, dark-haired woman cowering against the wall became surreal.</span><span><br/></span><span>Yet, the utter primordial reality of her potential death splintered her awareness, fighting to pull her into the nightmarish present. </span><em><span>‘I’m going to die here. I’m going to die and no one will ever find me.’ </span></em><span><br/></span> <span>“Turn around.” He instructed cooly, his mania calmed by her obedience. Mechanically, she turned, pressing cheek and front against the wall. </span> <span><br/></span> <span>“Hands on the wall.” </span></p><p><span>Magnus was the puppet master and she was the marionette, moving with each pull of her strings. An unfamiliar cracking of rope made her jump in fright. Peeking over her shoulder, she saw the outline of a cat-o’-nine-tails in Magnus’ steady grip. She carefully studied the numerous knots in each strong cord of leather, each she knew she would soon be acquainted with.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“If you so choose to dress like a sailor and act like a sailor, I’m akin to treating you like one. I warn you, girl, you let out a single peep and you will pay in double.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira grit her teeth and pressed her forehead against the stone wall, feeling his eyes trailing over her back. A few steps closer he took, discarding the whip for a mere second to grab handfuls of the nightdress. Quick as the whip would surely come, he tore her shift open, exposing the bare skin of her back. </span><span><br/></span> <span>Silence settled over them for a few unbearably long moments. She said a silent prayer, preparing for the force of his strikes by gritting her chattering teeth and attempting to breathe deeply. Moira gulped painfully, her tongue feeling dry and swollen in her mouth. The crack came with a grunt from Magnus and Moira’s eyes opened impossibly wide, her mouth dropping into a silent scream. Nothing would’ve prepared her for the searing pain that bloomed across her shoulders, nor the throbbing ache that would likely last for days after. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“That’s one, for the day I picked you up from that miserable island.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>The next one came, harder than the last, and Moira bit back a cry.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Two, for the day you told me you hated me. You were seven then.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>Her body tremored, stickied in a cold sweat from the onslaught of his blows. There was a smarmy, playful tone in his voice that made her want to rip his throat out. Moira squeezed her eyes shut, shuttering a gasp before the next flurry came. Seven more cracks of the whip knocked the wind out of her and left her seeing stars behind her closed lids. His comment for each scourge fell on deaf ears after a while, all Moira could focus on was what grew from a smolder to a white-hot fire in her back. By the eleventh, her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. She was panting, clawing at the wall to keep herself from sliding down it. Moira refused to collapse, knowing her weakness would encourage him. </span><span><br/></span> <span>A deep-seated rage began to broil within her, growing like an ugly thorn in the pit of her heart. She turned her head, her cheek pressed against the cool stone. In the corner of the room, the silhouette of a woman-- the woman she’d seen repeatedly over the past days-- stood by and silently watched. She could see the details of her face, her golden hair, and glazed-over reddened hazel eyes. The woman gripped her throat much like Moira had after Magnus strangled her into submission. Moira couldn’t find it in herself to be afraid of the specter anymore, too lost in the physical pain and the anger overtaking her. It dawned on her that he was marking her for each year she lived with him, twelve being the last one. She also realized he hesitated now, wheezing like a wild animal from all the exertion. As his ward of twelve years, she knew him well enough to have the utmost certainty that the last one would be the most severe. In her twelfth year, she had lied to him, stolen from him, manipulated him and ultimately, abandoned him. </span><span><br/></span> <span>Tears stung the second gash on her right cheek and she sunk into that, hoping that if she were to pay attention to a different kind of pain, the next lashing would not take her so violently. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“And the twelfth, Moira, the twelfth is for pretending you cared for me.” </span><span><br/></span> <em><span>Crack! </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <span>Though her back tingled with a fiery numbness, this last one cleaved into her back. The knotted cords of the whip wrapped over her torso and just under her breast, drawing beads of blood from where it hit. The pain in her side and ribcage was akin to being hit with a sledgehammer, far greater than any other hit she experienced in her lifetime. Moira gasped again, this time allowing herself to crumple to the floor, clutching at her side. He was on her again in an instant, flipping her around, slamming her back into the wall, and gripping her blood-stained chin. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“You will </span><em><span>never </span></em><span>betray my trust again.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>Her fear of the Lord remained, but she found herself unable to react, unable to do anything but stare directly into his silvery orbs. </span><em><span>‘What happened to you that made you so damn cruel?’ </span></em><span>She thought, a bubble of a sob rising in her throat. Moira pushed it down, grimacing in disgust at herself for even caring what molded the monster in front of her.</span><span><br/></span> <span>With that, he released her, taking Charlotte’s limp arms into his hands to drag her out of the room. Moira forced herself to stand with quaking knees, stumbling toward the governess and the door. In an instant, it was shut, all manner of light snuffed out around her. Moira’s hands found the door and she slid down it, dropping to her knees and resting her forehead against the wood. </span><span><br/></span> <em><span>‘It’s done. I failed.’ </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><span><br/></span> <span>Moira could not discern how long it had been since Lord Magnus locked her away. Time unraveled and stretched out endlessly before her in the stinking prison. Moira thought that perhaps she’d spend eternity there, just like Elsie Magnus must have. She couldn’t bring herself to move, her muscles felt like stone and her skin set aflame from harsh punishment. Instead, she curled up against the door, listening for any sound of his return. Would he finish what he started? Would he kill her? Or would he simply leave her here to rot, alone in the dark? </span><span><br/></span> <em><span>‘And what of Alice?’ </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <span>She thought, her eyes slipping shut as the vision of the shark-eyed Magnus woman blossomed behind her lids. Did she know? Would she care? Would she keep her locked away when all that was left was her and Moira in the entirety of the manor? Better yet, would anyone care?</span><span><br/></span> <span>Her heart twisted painfully and her stomach lurched when her thoughts next landed on Evelyn and Thomas. The thin, quirked brow and charmingly wicked smirk Evelyn always gave her came to the forefront of her mind. Would Evelyn Blackwood ever find out what happened to her mother? What would she do when she realized she was orphaned all because of the monster of Magnus Manor? How would Thomas protect Evelyn from that heartbreak? Would Evelyn ever smile again? Would they survive it?</span><span><br/></span> <em><span>‘Would she blame me if she did find out?’ </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <span>Moira couldn’t find it in her heart to be angry with the prospect of Evelyn hating her after this. Moira hated herself for letting Charlotte die already. It </span><em><span>was</span></em><span> her fault, wasn’t it? She didn’t physically slice into her, but her foolish decisions brought death upon her. Whatever happened in this room and for the short span of life she had left, Moira believed she deserved all of it. </span><span><br/></span> <span>She deserved the debilitating ache expanding through her whole body. She deserved the vicious stinging of every laceration he inflicted. She deserved to be isolated in the dark, never to see the light of day or breathe fresh air again.</span><span><br/></span><span>Even though she did not kill Charlotte, she had unleashed hell in waking life upon them both. Charlotte did not deserve to die for Moira. She was nothing, just a speck of sand that no one had ever even known existed. Now that some did know her, every single one of them would pay for her sins. </span><span><br/></span> <em><span>‘He was right about everything. It’s no one else’s fault but my own.’ </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <b><em>___________________</em></b><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>Ocean waves crash around her, pulling Moira into another world far away from the worries of reality. She feels sand in her hair and sea seeping into her clothes. She’s laying on a sandy, craggy beach of Skye. A crab clacks its little claws at Moira and scuttles over her stomach, beckoning her to open her eyes. Above her is the ashen, thunderous clouds of a brewing storm and the form of a certain sea witch, standing by her side.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Why are you here? Why do you even care?”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“I care ‘bout all children of de sea.” The dark beauty saunters around Moira, her black-beacon orbs peering into the very soul of the ward. “And you, leanabh mara, have a destiny you canne’ fulfill locked in a cage.”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>She holds out her hand to the ward and Moira takes it with a huff. The ward is tired, her eyes are heavy, but the ache in her body is gone.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>Moira crosses her arms where she stands and narrows her emerald eyes at the woman. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Destiny, aye? What’s that? Getting more people killed on my behalf? I’d rather rot, thank you.” The ward turns away from the ocean and Calypso, staring off at the rocky swells of cliff-face in front of her. There was only one way up and no other path to take away from the sea goddess.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Woe to the fool who turns their back on da goddess that brought dem into this world.”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“ I suppose I’m a fool then, aren’t I?”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“A </span></em><em><span>desperate, stark-starin’ mad fool.” Calypso snaps, a growl heavily rolling in her unusual accent. Her voice softens into a gentle hum with her next words:</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“ Who be needin’ my help.”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>Moira freezes at the familiar phrase, instantly recalling the conversation she had with Hector Barbossa. Her eyes narrow into slits and she whirls around to Calypso, arms dropping to her sides and brow lifting in suspicion. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“What does he have to do with anything?”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“ Him have to do with everythin’ about you.” </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>Moira opens her mouth, ready to insist that Hector Barbossa was a means to an end-- an end that ultimately failed. Calypso’s finger traces over Moira’s mouth, shushing her immediately. The sea goddess gives her a simple smile, but Moira can sense the wisdom within her expression. After a moment, Calypso relinquishes her finger and turns on her heel, raising her arms towards the heavens. </span></em><span><br/></span> <em><span>“So what is my purpose then?”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“That be somethin’ you will come to understand. For now, all this goddess of de sea can tell you is that you be a catalyst.”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“A catalyst for what?”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Destiny.”</span></em></p><p><em><span>“Destiny?”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>“Destiny of yer fadder, yer brodder and every soul dat cross your path.”</span></em><span><br/></span> <em><span>Droplets begin to trickle from the heavens, pitter-pattering against the sand and the lulling waves. The goddess’s arms sway fluidly in the air, her body rippling the ritualistic dance of rain.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>“Father… brother? What? What do you know?”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>Calypso whips around to look at the half-selkie, her dreadlocks damp and flying around her face. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>“You find your family, you find yourself.” </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>With that final sentence, the ocean waves swell high, higher than Moira had ever seen before. She wonders very briefly if this is what Hector saw when he stood against the typhoon all those years ago. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>The sea comes crashing down around her, totally encapsulating her in darkness. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <span>Moira spluttered and coughed, heaving her breaths with her shivers. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light from a flickering torch and saw that Magnus returned, the large empty bucket in his hands raised in front of her. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Get up.” </span> <span><br/></span> <span>The ward scrambled to her feet, wiping her eyes with her hands and wincing at the pain of bruises and torn cheek. </span><em><span><br/></span></em> <span>He sauntered around her, much like she’d just seen Calypso do-- but instead, his eyes were scrutinizing her tattered form and bare back. She kept her eyes away from him, training them steadily on the woman still watching from the corner. Could he see her? Could he feel her presence? </span><span><br/></span> <span>“What did you do to your wife?” </span> <span><br/></span> <span>It was a question she was not brave enough to ask before, but now she saw no point in hiding it. His hand knotted into her hair and ripped her head upward, making her bend back painfully. He peered at her with daggers in his gunmetal glare. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“What I’ve done in the past is none of your concern, wretch.” He flung her head forward, letting go of her hair. Moira rubbed at her scalp and stared at the floor, her eyes filled with contempt. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“I have informed Alice of your time here in this room. You’re to be left here until I return, at which point I will let you out on one condition.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“What’s that?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“You tell me what you’ve been doing in town.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira bit back a laugh, knowing any semblance of patronizing behavior from her would result in her death. Then again, why should she care?</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Good luck with that. I won’t make it a week without food or water.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“I never said you wouldn’t be supplied with that. I’m not that cruel of a man, Moira.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“At this point, dying of dehydration would be an act of mercy from you, Walter. I don’t want any part of your stupid little ploy.” She snapped, hatred unfurling itself in the pit of her belly like a serpent drawing back before the kill. The air threatened to choke the life from her, the lingering stench staining the walls now tinged with the scent of blood-- Charlotte’s blood.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Is that so?” </span><span><br/></span> <span>His voice held little to no emotion in it, but Moira could tell by the terse line his mouth had formed that her comment irritated him. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“You realize you were the one who </span><em><span>toyed </span></em><span>with me?” </span><span><br/></span> <span>He hissed into her ear before stepping in front of her. Moira refused to spare another glance at him even when she could feel his breath on her face. She could smell whiskey permeating him and found herself missing the fire drink that left her uninhibited. What she would give to be completely soused one last time.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“I didn’t toy with you. Anything I’ve shown care for was genuine-- the only thing I lied about was my intentions to marry you. You’ve kept me locked away and took away my freedom the second I stepped into your manor. I have a family, Magnus, something you will never be to me.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“They clearly didn’t care enough about you to keep you around. Defy me all you like; there are only two ways out of here. You either comply or you stay in here indefinitely.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Tears burned in her eyes but she blinked them away, not ready to admit that his words stung. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“I guess we’ll find out which one I choose.” Her voice faltered slightly, cracking in the onslaught of emotion brooding beneath her icy exterior.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“I suppose we will. There’ll be no food today. You can thank yourself for that.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira’s eyes narrowed on the older male and her jaw set, a grimace pulling down her blood-crusted lips.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“You claim not to be cruel but here you are, standing in for the devil himself all over the sins of a child.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“You are not a child, Moira. You’ve grown into a disobedient, ungrateful, impertinent wretch of a woman. You’d be lucky if I married you. You have no hope of marriage after what you’ve done. Who could love you after this?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>The tears still came and she would rub at them, only becoming more and more vexed  with herself each time. </span> <span><br/></span> <span>“What did I do? Dress like a boy and drink whiskey? My god, I must be a horrible harpy to take one sliver of my freedom back from a controlling monster.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“I feel there’s more to what you’ve been doing than you let on.” He lifted his hand between them and from it dangled an eerily familiar golden locket. Moira’s blood ran cold, recalling stuffing it beneath her mattress before leaving her room that morning. </span><em><span>‘How did he find that?’ </span></em><span>She wrapped her fingers instinctively over the oblong pendant and it burned just as fiery as before. Moira ripped her hand away reflexively, clasping her other hand over it.</span><span><br/></span> <span> “You don’t feel that?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Magnus stiffened, standing up to his full height at that comment. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Feel what?” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“The locket, it….” She trailed off, unsure how he’d respond to her if she mentioned the heat radiating off the accursed object. “It’s burning hot.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>He let out a mirthless, incredulous laugh. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Oh Moira, are you going mad?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Most likely.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira’s body screamed for rest, her mouth dry and incomprehensible exhaustion settling into her bones. She leaned against the nearest wall, her breathing haggard from the effort it took to stand upright. Her gaze dragged over to where the specter of Elsie stood, silent and forever watching. </span><span><br/></span> <em><span>‘Why can’t you show me what you want?’</span></em> <span><br/></span> <span>A rattling breath sounded from the abyssal corner and Moira shivered, wrapping her arms over her torso. She blinked away, fixing her eyes on Magnus with an expectant look. He stared at her, torn between looking at her like she grew a second head.</span><span><br/></span> <span>She could hear the drag of weak footsteps drawing closer. Her heart began to pound in her chest and she squeezed her eyes shut. </span><em><span>‘If I’m supposed to listen to her, then I can’t keep running away. Not that there is a way out of here now.’</span></em><span><br/></span> <span>Moira let out a startled yelp when the cold, taut hand of the dead clapped over her forearm. </span><span><br/></span> <span>Another rattle of air and the world became cyclonic. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span> <em><span>“Hello, Mister Mercer.” </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>A young man stands before a striking, high-class lady. He peers at her through black-diamond, hooded eyes with a hint of a smirk.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>A demure smile is poised on her full lips and she holds out her hand to him. He takes it and brushes his mouth over her knuckles, dark eyes never leaving her expressive face. </span></em> <em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Is it happenstance that I find you here, Lady Magnus?”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>Elsie’s smile grows and she takes a step closer, squeezing his hand affectionately. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>The sun casts her hair golden, and her warm complexion alights with life. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Decidedly not.” </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>He rewards her with a tender smile and her heart skips a beat. In the shadow of Magnus Manor, Ian Mercer keeps their interaction as proper as such impropriety would allow. He watches her as she closes her eyes and tilts her head back, letting the warmth of the day shine down on her.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“I miss spending my days out here.”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>When Elsie opens them once more, she can see how Ian’s brooding stare lingers on her mouth. He wants to kiss her, but he doesn’t dare. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>Not yet.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>The melodic sound of a child laughing fills the air. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <span>“Moira, what the hell are you doing? Have you gone completely mental?” </span><span><br/></span> <span>The locket clattered to the floor as Magnus grappled both of her shoulders painfully tight. The ward let out a groan and nearly collapsed when his fingers dug around her shoulders and over the shredded areas of her upper back. Her eyes honed in on him again, slightly mystified by his intrusion. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Who is Mister Mercer?” She blurted out, one hand coming to the side of her head to steady herself and quell the stabbing pain behind her eyes. The Lord’s eyes narrowed fractionally as he scrutinized her. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“How do you know that name?” </span><span><br/></span> <span>Her eyes rolled into the back of her skull and her head lolled forward as another memory overtook her. </span></p><p><span><br/></span> <em><span>“It’s come to my knowledge that you’ve been spending a lot of time with someone, Elsie.” </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>Her eyes grow wide and dread fills her belly, dragging her down like a weight. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat and averts her gaze to the floor</span></em><em><span>. </span></em><em><span>Elsie says nothing to her husband, but the way she holds herself tells him everything he didn’t want to know. He laces his fingers together and rests his chin on his hands, biting the inside of his cheek to stave off the growing rage.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Oliver mentioned that it was a man. It appears you’ve both enjoyed his company.”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>Elsie glanced up at Walter, tears brimming her eyes. His words drip with malice and his face is taut and restrained, only his brow giving away the crushing blow of betrayal. She bites her lip, trying to stave off the urge to cry.  Remorse weighs heavily in her chest. With a shaky voice, she whispers:</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“I haven’t been happy for a long time. I… it just happened. I’m so sorry, Walter, I truly am.”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>Walter’s jaw tightens and he crosses his arms tightly over his broad chest. Elsie watches him intently, fearful of his calm exterior and paralyzed by guilt. There’s a brief moment that she can see the turmoil in his eyes. She can see the hurt little boy peeking out at her, wondering if he was ever truly loved. In an instant, that little boy was tucked away and his cold glare hones in on her. She loves Ian Mercer, she knows it well within the deepest confines of her heart. Yet she still cares for Walter, her husband, and father to her son, despite his constant need for control. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>Her hand rests on his forearm and he reflexively pulls away, sending her a seething glare. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“I still love you, Walter. I’m so sorry I did this. Let me explain--”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Explain what? That you’re just as dirty as the women my father took to bed?”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>The words sting and she reels back in her seat, clearing her throat. </span></em> <em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“That’s not fair.” </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“I’ll tell you what’s not fair, Elsie. It’s not fair that your husband has to find out from your son that his wife is akin to a common hedge whore.” </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>The tears are streaming now, Elsie’s bottom lip set aquiver as she holds back a sob.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“He’s </span></em><b><em>our </em></b><em><span>son, Walter! How dare you call me--”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“What you are? How can I be sure he’s even mine when you’ve been mucking about with another man?!”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Don’t be ridiculous, he is yours. You can see it plain as day.” </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <span>Magnus’ open hand came down on her face for a third time, effectively snapping Moira back into reality. Her cheek stung from the impact, but the force behind his slap was enough to wake her. She shook her head, both her hands now clutching Magnus’ forearm. An angry fear riddled Magnus’ weathered, wrinkled face. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“How did you know that name? Have you been spying on me?” He shook her once and Moira simply stared, wide-eyed. The words flew out of her mouth faster than she could catch them.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“What did you do when you found out?”</span><span><br/></span></p><p><em><span>His hands are on her now and he’s shaking her shoulders, caught in a madman’s raving. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Sorry isn’t enough, Elsie! It’ll never be enough for this! Who is he, Elsie?! What is his bloody name?!”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>She’s still crying but her mouth is small and tight, her eyes wider than before. Elsie’s mind is ablaze with too much and absolutely nothing all at once-- in all six years they spent together, she never witnessed her husband in such a state. Magnus’ demeanor escalated, the look of a wild man in his eyes now.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span> Something cracked in him. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>The scene shifts and he’s dragging her up the stairs by her hair. Her cries become frantic with the tearing pain in her scalp. She kicks and screams, flailing about with very little foundation beneath her. She finally finds her legs and stumbles along with him, begging for him to stop. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“What are you doing?!” she wails between her sobs.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>They’re up the second flight of stairs and around the corner, heading directly for the West Wing. Her screams grow wilder as if she knows exactly what is coming. The sound of a little boy, high-pitched and wavering cuts in. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Papa, what’s going on?” </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>Walter lets out an animalistic snarl at his son, shoving the boy back into his bed-chamber with one hand. He flops to the floor with a tremendous huff, staring up at him wide-eyed. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Stay in there, bastard child!” </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>His little face is contorted into painful, frightened tears, and Elsie knows at that moment his heart was shattered. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <span>Moira let out a sharp exhale, coming back down from another of Elsie’s memories. Her mind was in tatters, torn between three different realities. Magnus had her in his grasp, bordering on tears now. Next to him, stood Elsie, her eyes unseeing, her mouth lax and drooping. Moira couldn’t tell if Lady Magnus was screaming silently or decomposing before her eyes. Another moment in time grasped at her and tugged her away. </span></p><p><span><br/></span> <em><span>“You’re beautiful.” </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>His fingers are toying with her pale-gold hair, twirling it between his fingers slowly. His black pupils bore into her hazel gaze. He’s close. Closer than before.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Ian, not here. We can’t.” </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“He’s not watching right now, Elsie. Just this once.”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>She can feel his breath fan her face and her eyes slide closed.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span> A shaky sigh releases from her. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>His stare is back on her lips.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Well, alright.”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>At first, his lips move over hers, careful and deliberate. He’s reveling in her softness and the scent of her lavender perfume. With a quiet groan, he claims what he knows could never be his. Elsie’s hands are on his chest while one of his nestles under her hair. Just as quickly as it started, his lips are gone and her eyes flutter open. The amorous gleam in his eye flares a pink flush over her cheeks.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>“Will you meet me later tonight?”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>“If I can get away…”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>Little footsteps rustle through the grass and Elsie flits her gaze to the sound. Big, silvery eyes stare up at her in confusion, behind them stirs an intelligence that seemed unnatural for such a young soul. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Momma?” He asks, unsure of what he’d just seen. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>The sun begins to darken, the inky black of night coloring the sky until there’s nothing left. The last image is the vision of young Oliver, a lost, wandering expression on his face.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em></p><p><span><br/></span> <em><span>“I can explain! Please, stop this madness!” </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>The familiar scrape of metal on metal and a creak of a door reverberates through the stale air. The locked room’s dark interior throws oblong shadows on the pair.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Get in there, you covetous hussy!” </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>Gold locks fly around her face and she collapses onto the icy stone floor. Hazel orbs rake over the darkroom. Within seconds he’s on her again, fingers knotted into blonde strands, dragging her further in. She screams and kicks, her eyes wide and wild like caught prey seconds before death. He hoists her to her feet by the back of her dress and hair. Large hands squeeze her small shoulders and spin her around to face him. Hot, angry tears trickle down his pallid cheeks and his eyes are lost in a wicked frenzy. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Why? Why did you do it?!” Magnus snarled, torn between despairing betrayal and hysteria.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>Elsie hardly mutters a word, shaking with fright and staring at her deranged husband. He shakes her violently as if to rattle the words that stuck in her throat. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Why?!”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Momma?” </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>The little voice cuts in and Oliver is standing by the ajar door, one hand hovering in front of his face as if he can hide the horror he’s seeing. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Get out of here!” Elsie screams to her son as Walter releases her. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>He storms toward Oliver with a vicious gleam in his eye. Elsie stumbles after him, all the while screaming:</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Stay away from my son!” </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>Oliver shrinks in the shadow of Magnus, his eyes growing wider as his father closes in on him. One large hand snatches the little boy up by his arm, lifting him off the ground a few inches. Magnus pivots swiftly and backhands Elsie, sending her flying to the floor before she could get a foot out the door. With that, he slams the door shut behind him, dropping Oliver for a moment to lock the door. Oliver tries to run, but his little legs can only take him so far. Magnus is on him in two strides, lifting him by the arm again and dragging the boy towards his bed-chamber. Oliver begins to scream and cry, kicking around in a pitiful attempt to escape.  </span></em><em><span><br/><br/></span></em></p><p><span>The locked room sunk back into view and Moira stood in front of Magnus, her eyes wide as sight came back to her. The Lord loomed over her, the same maniacal gleam returning. Moira gritted her teeth, taking a hobbling step toward him. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“You’ve done this before!”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Magnus looked at her with the eyes of a cornered animal, dangerous and frightened all in the same. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“How do you know any of this?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira looked to Elsie, who stood stock-still beside her with a hand on her forearm. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Tell me you didn’t kill her! Tell me you didn’t lock her away!” </span><span><br/></span> <span>He grappled both of her shoulders and slammed her against the wall with enough force to nearly knock the wind from her. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Remember your place!” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“It’ll never be with you!” </span><span><br/></span><span>His fingers clamped over her throat, harder than ever before.</span></p><p><span><br/></span> <em><span>Elsie is on the floor, legs kicking wildly. Magnus is kneeling before her, both hands on her throat. He presses his entire weight down on her airway, crushing away the voice he couldn’t bear to hear. Her eyes bulge and roll in the back of her head, her mouth falling open into a soundless scream. Her fingernails claw at his hands, forearms, and her own neck, leaving rivulets of blood in their wake. Even then, he doesn’t stop. Walter can’t bear the thought of hearing her speak. The voice of an adulteress, the same one that told him she loved her every time they parted. Now, he knew it was a lie-- a lie his own father told to his wife. History was repeating itself.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span> A hideous, mortifying emotion that he seldom can tame drives him forward. Rage courses through his veins, yet an eerie calm falls over him. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>Her face is turning from red to purple with each passing second, blood vessels bursting beneath pale skin. Elsie’s legs start to lose their energy, lulling to a lazy thump as consciousness slips from her. Walter stares down emptily, watching the life drain from her face. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><span><br/></span> <span>Moira’s hands clawed at his grip, successfully loosening it when her nails tore into bits of his flesh. A single breath was all she could take. Magnus let out a vicious growl and slammed the back of her head against the wall. His hands came back down on her neck, vehemently pressing into her, crushing her slowly. Moira squeezed her eyes shut as the familiar buzzing sensation erupted under her skin.  Her legs buckled underneath her and she crumpled against his force.</span><span><br/></span></p><p><em><span>His fingers dig into her pinched flesh, even though she long ceased moving. Time seems to stretch out endlessly in front of him, shrouded by the dark corners of the empty room. His room. The room of a devil. He didn’t know how long he bared down on her, nor how long he could hear the wild screams of his son down the hall. His mind slowly came back to him, coaxing him into the reality laid beneath his grip. Magnus sits back on his haunches, a look of horror spreading over his face. He checks her wrist for a pulse and finds none. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>She’s gone.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><span><br/></span> <span>Moira could feel the life draining from her, although she clawed and fought as hard as she could. Her brain became a blank slate, devoid of everything but the primal terror of death. Self-preservation could not win out this war, not with the monster squeezing every ounce of her being out. Her whole face is aflame with pins and needles, feeling as if it were about to burst. </span><span><br/></span><span>All she could see was his dead, cold eyes, blurring at the edges and darkening as her awareness slipped away. Even the phantom woman next to him did not seem as empty as he was.</span><span><br/></span> <span><br/></span> <em><span>She stares emptily at the ceiling as if it would burst open and she could fly free. Magnus is howling in his despair, laying on his side next to the corpse of his wife. He reaches over, shakily, and takes her into his arms.</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“I’m so sorry.” </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>His hands smooth over her pale hair, but he couldn’t bear to look at her. He did not dare not look at the swollen spots of her neck that shaped to his hand, nor the swollen, blood-red sclera of her eyes.  </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Please, stay with me. I can’t do this alone.”</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>Oliver’s wails echoed from his bed-chamber and a nagging thought enters Magnus’ mind. </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span><br/></span></em> <span>Air flooded into her lungs, her eyes fluttering at the sound of retreating footsteps. Her head rolled to the side and she forced another breath, her throat struggling to decompress. The door creaked closed with a quiet thud and she could vaguely make out the dull slide of the iron bar locking into place. It took a few moments for her eyes to open fully and adjust to her dark surroundings. The locked room sat in eerie silence as if it were the Hall of the Dead. Moira tried to lift her head and found the ache in her muscles would not allow it. Her back stung viciously from the cold floor pressing against her wounds. She curled onto her side, weakly pulling the ripped gown over her shoulder to cover her body.  Moira did not know where Magnus had gone nor why-- only that he was no longer in the room with her. Her weak hand gently traced over the tender parts of her throat, staring blankly at the wall across from her. </span><span><br/></span> <span>A few hours later, the door opened again, pulling Moira back to a conscious state. She didn’t bother to move, the physical pain keeping her fastened to the floor. She heard the clattering of a tray behind her. The door slid closed once more, leaving her alone in the dark. It took several minutes for her to sit up, the assault leaving her severely fatigued. Her limbs were like lead, giving out frequently beneath her weight.  Moira scanned the room, finding that not even the ghost of Elsie kept her company. She was truly alone now. Silent tears dribbled down her cheek, her soft sniffles echoing in the empty room. Moira looked toward the door, knowing there would be a tray of food or water there. She barely had enough strength to drag herself to it, sipping and nibbling on bits of bread.</span></p><p><span>Days slip by where Moira spent most of her time asleep or lost in a daydream far away from Magnus Manor. She thought of Hector often, deeming him the only person she could think of without recalling the life Magnus took away. Her mind wandered to words Calypso said-- that Hector had a significant role in her destiny. </span><span><br/></span> <span>His face would haunt her, her mind’s eye going over his gaunt cheekbones, the curve of his jaw and the storm within brooding, deep blues. The vision of him enticed her and comforted her all in the same, but not in a romantic stirring. He represented a notion of freedom, another thread to cling to besides the prospect of having living relatives out in the world. She imagined him at sea often, the cresting waves bobbing that naval schooner across the waters. She kept herself with him in her waking moments, trying her best to preserve what very little life she had left. When her stomach growled or her tongue felt too dry and swollen in her mouth, she’d force herself to move toward the  little tray Magnus replenished. She took bits of bread and used the water to swallow it down, trying her best to move slowly so she did not overwhelm her starving, parched body. After that, Moira would shuffle into the nearest corner of the room, the one Elsie had once coveted for herself. She would curl there, clothes still damp and body exhausted from the simple motions. It proved next to impossible to stand after all he had inflicted. Even still, she waited with Hector, hoping that the door would open and his strength would guide her out. </span><span><br/></span> <span>The sound of the heavy wooden door swinging open startled Moira awake once more. She huddled against the wall, wrapping the nightgown tightly over herself. She didn’t want to see the man striding into the room, didn’t dare to look at the one who nearly took her life.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“I’m leaving for Falmouth within the hour.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira shifted against the wall, unwilling and unable to speak. Her throat seemed perpetually caught in a fiery ache after nearly being strangled to death. No matter how hard she tried to speak, only a whisper could escape. She rubbed absently at the bruises she knew tarnished her neck and stared blankly at the wall. Magnus cleared his throat, walking towards the corner of the room she inhabited since his last attack. </span><span><br/></span> <span>He leaned down in front of her, his hand carefully reaching toward her face. Moira shrunk back instinctively, confident that she would not survive anything else from him. His hand hovered in mid-air as if he was deliberating whether to hit her, or so she thought. Finally, Magnus’ fingers grazed her skin gently, tucking a matted, stray curl behind her ear. He moved in a little closer, letting his fingers burrow into her raven locks to gently massage her scalp. Moira’s breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened at the tender gesture. Despite his softness, all Moira could feel was the burn of Hell in his touch. She grimaced and turned her head away from him, trying to distance herself from his intrusion. Her stomach roiled and she began to shake, fearing what the next step would be. Would he tear away the very last shred of her integrity? </span><span><br/></span> <span>Both of her arms tightened over her waist protectively. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but he closed it once more, unable to form the words. </span><span><br/></span> <span>He pulled away from her, lingering in his crouched position in front of the ward.  When Moira only curled into herself more and tucked further into the corner, Magnus stood and sauntered to the door.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“I’ll be back in a few weeks. Alice will come to feed you.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>His departure left her in silent wonderment. What was his intention behind that touch? Did he initially plan to take advantage of her? Or was it truly an act of mercy and a silent apology? Moira sneered at the irony of it all. Remorse did not suit Magnus’ and she found his gesture only served to anger her even more. </span><em><span>‘How dare he even try to atone for what he’s done?’ </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><span><br/></span> <em><span>‘No one is coming to save me.’</span></em><span><br/></span> <span>The thought rolled through her stormy mind over and over for the next few hours, only to cease when her body forced her into a restless sleep. Moira would awake again with a start, tortured  by the memory of how he hurt her and how he killed Charlotte. Only then, would she realize that her reality was a far worse nightmare than the repeating history in her dreams. Waking up meant coping with the reality that her governess was dead and she was trapped, alone and in pain. The cycle repeated itself for what seemed like hours on end. Moira could feel her sanity hanging by mere threads-- threads that reminded her of an estranged family and a rather arrogant sailing master. Calypso mentioned a father and a brother, both of which she never even thought to exist. It kept a flicker of hope within her, a sliver of light in the endless dark. No matter what happened, Moira would do everything in her power to escape, even if it resulted in her death. In her mind, a part of her was already dead. There was nothing else he could truly do to her now. </span><span><br/></span> <span>The dreadful, overfamiliar grinding of metal told her that someone was about to enter. She turned her head away in defiance. Hunger had faded long ago. She refused to be deduced to eating on the floor like an animal anymore.  </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Moira?” The gruff, roguish voice of a certain brute caused her to freeze up. Her gaze wandered to the door. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Oh my god.” Another feminine albeit rough voice followed.</span><span><br/></span><span>On the other side of the door stood Thomas Bligh and Evelyn Blackwood, who was holding a gun to Alice’s head. </span><span><br/></span><span></span><br/></p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Reborn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N: My grandma passed away last night and I’m a giant trainwreck. I wrote as much as I could for now. I’m just going to post this as a chapter. Next one will be escapism and silly Barbossa introduction. I’m hoping to have it out in the next few days, but we all know how good I am at deadlines. Let me know if you see any mistakes because I kinda didn't give a shit about revising this one before publishing. It was fun though. </p><p>I wanted to ask you guys, would you be interested in seeing the perspectives shift once they get on the ship? I’m reading Six of Crows right now and the writer shifts between different character’s perspectives each chapter. I was thinking of messing with that a bit, as some of the OCs will not stay minor characters for much longer… and it’d be fun to get into Barbossa’s head. I would probably do these perspective shifts in each chapter, as opposed to having each chapter be a different point of view. Let me know what you think.</p><p>Disclaimer: I don't think eighteen year olds are idiots. I just think Moira is, lmao. But we love her, righhht?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong><br/><br/><br/>Chapter Ten- Reborn</strong><br/><br/><br/><br/><span><br/></span> <span>Moira stared at the trio listlessly, her brows knitted together in an attempt to discern their facial expressions. Her thoughts ran dry with her tears several hours prior, leaving her in a hollow haze. All that was left was an indiscriminate passage of time.</span><span><br/></span> <span>Thomas took a careful step into the room and his hand immediately flew over his nose. He bit back a wretch when the acrid stench of decay assaulted his nostrils. He set his oil lantern on a wall-hook near to the door before scanning the strange chamber. The locked room lay as barren as a wasteland, save for Moira and a small chamberpot in opposing corners. The graying, wooden floor was worn into disrepair and the oblong cobbled stone walls pressed in around them. Another dry gag escaped him and Thomas cleared his throat, trying to stave off the bile climbing up his esophagus. His gaze faltered when his eyes landed on the large, sticky pool of coagulated blood near the center of the room and again when he saw the stains in the corner Moira inhabited.</span><span><br/></span> <span> Moira stared off into the dark, her arms draped over her bare knees limply. Her awareness remained fractured, as if she were another entity peering down upon them. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Lord have mercy on us.” Thomas rasped, his voice tight as he went through the motions of the cross with his right hand.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“What is it?” Evelyn called from the hallway, her view slightly obscured by the doorway and his hulking form. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Stay out there, lass.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>An aggravated sound was the only response from her, although she did not advance into the room.</span><span><br/></span> <span>Thomas inched closer to Moira, like she was a cornered animal poised to attack at the next sign of a threat. She blinked at him blankly, hardly able to discern the details of his face. Moira watched him kneel in front of her and reach a hand out to stroke her cheek. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“What has he done t’ ye?” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“He whipped me.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>The words did not feel her own, her voice hoarse, monotone and disjointed. An infinitesimal bubble of emotion crept into her guts. Moira couldn’t yet place it, finding it to be nothing but a strange sensation. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Put this on, lass.” He muttered, pulling off his frock-coat and dropping it into Moira’s grasp. Moira mechanically pulled the coat over her shoulders, effectively covering her bare back and open wounds. Thomas gingerly clasped her wrist, slowly prying her away from the corner. He pivoted so his back was facing her and then guided her hands onto his shoulders. Moira automatically wrapped her arms over him and clung her legs to his waist as he stood. The pain in her body seemed far away now, like a memory whispered by someone else. She thought she’d feel relief when he stepped through the threshold of the door.</span><span><br/></span> <span> Instead, Moira felt nothing at all.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span> <span>Silently, the group crept toward the West Wing servants entrance. Evelyn had a hand on Lady Alice’s shoulder, pushing her to the front of the group with the barrel of the flintlock pressed into her neck. Thomas hulked after them, carrying Moira like she weighed nothing more than a small sack of potatoes. A nagging thought danced on the edge of Moira’s consciousness, barely a perceptible whisper. She tried to catch it, tried her damndest to find her bearings but came up with nothing. No tears, no anger, no screams of joy. Moira couldn’t force herself back into her body nor her mind, even though she knew she was being carried out of Magnus Manor. The servant’s door swung open, with it came the burning light of morning. Moira screwed up her face against the cloud-shrouded sun, breathing in the fresh air. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span> <span>“This way.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>Alice guided them down an overgrown path behind the manor, stomping through tall ripples of grass and around debris of many storms passed. Moira elected to shove her face into the back of Thomas’ shirt, trying to black out the eye-watering sky. Without much thought, she found herself clutching handfuls of his shirt like a lifeline. The musky scent of him slowly pulled her back down to earth, even more so with each step they took away from Magnus Manor. Evelyn and Thomas were here, in flesh and blood. That very fact proved to be comforting and soul-crushing all at once. A sudden jolt had Moira peering over Thomas’ shoulder, trying to figure out why they stopped moving. </span><span><br/></span> <span>A grand oak loomed over the group, scraggly limbs stretching around them in its climb for the sun.  It stood higher than any of the others in the grove, demanding the attention of every eye. Despite her blurred vision, Moira immediately recognized the oak to be the same tree Elsie whiled a sunny summer afternoon away with her young son and a secret lover. The image before her became more desolate in the mild winter day, the tree left stripped of its lively leaves. The ground was adorned with a patchwork of moss and dirt, globules of morning dew laying fresh upon the hues of sparse greenery. As her eyes began to adjust, her sights honed in on the jarring image that stopped the other three in their tracks. Freshly overturned dirt lay in a heap by Evelyn’s feet, large enough to fit a person-- large enough to be a grave. The brunette dropped to her knees, abandoning her hold of Alice for the earthen resting place beneath her. Her gun-wielding hand brushed lightly over the dirt at first, before desperation took hold and she began to claw at the ground. As delicately as he could, Thomas shrugged Moira off his back, taking two careful steps toward the hunched over woman. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Evelyn.”</span><span><br/></span> <span> He approached her carefully, squatting down beside her and laying a light hand on her shoulder. Evelyn made no noise, but halted her movement as if he had frozen her in time. An angry hiss left her before the Blackwood daughter whipped around, pointing her gun directly at Alice. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“How long?” She asked, grinding out each syllable through gritted teeth. </span><span><br/></span> <span> “I had to bide my time.” Alice took a few careful steps back, although she retained an air of haughty contempt.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“How long has she been lying in the dirt like some diseased animal?!” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“ It’s been three days.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>A wild scream bubbled from Evelyn’s throat as she pulled the hammer back with her thumb.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Don’t!” Thomas boomed, reaching after Evelyn while she dodged him. </span><span><br/></span> <span>Simultaneously, Moira forced herself off the ground with an anguished scream, throwing her entire body weight into Alice. The crack of a gunshot sounded off as they toppled to the ground, lead-shot zooming just above their heads. Evelyn shoved her hand into an ammo pouch strapped to her waist, readying to load her pistol again, all the while dodging advances from her male companion. Alice bolted upright, incensed at the woman who nearly put a bullet in her skull. Thomas caught up to the enraged woman and ripped the pistol from her hand. Evelyn turned on the pale-haired man, fist colliding with his cheek. Thomas’ head snapped to the left and her hands barraged his chest, a scream ripping from her throat. His arms clamped around her, effectively pinning her against him. Evelyn slapped at his chest again and again, wriggling in his grasp while she screamed:</span><span><br/></span> <span>“I hate you! I hate you!”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Evelyn let out a frustrated growl, followed quickly by a choked sob. Her palm hit his shoulder limply and her forehead fell against his chest, the fiery woman reduced to tears.</span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira lifted her head from her spot beside Lady Alice, who had gathered herself and stood beside Moira calmly. The young ward traced Lady Alice’s face, searching for any semblance of fear and finding none. Instead, a resolute, stoic expression came over her and appeared to be having a difficult time biting her tongue. Moira’s line of sight slowly trailed over to Evelyn and Thomas. Evelyn was in near hysterics, gripping Thomas’ shirt tightly while his hand smoothed over her newly-cropped hair, the other keeping her pinned against him. Moira felt the bustling, chilled wind brush over her face and she closed her eyes, letting her head fall back in surrender.  The image of golden hair shining in the sun entered her mind’s eye, following Elsie's head as it tipped back in the same gesture many moons ago. Where had she gone?</span><span><br/></span> <em><span>‘Momma?’ </span></em><span><br/></span> <span>The shape of a child wrestled its way into the corner of her eye and Moira sat up straight, turning her head in the direction she knew he stood. Near-white blonde curls fell around his stormy gray-blue eyes, his pale brows knitted in confusion. </span><span><br/></span> <em><span>‘Find my son.’ </span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <span>Moira opened her eyes again and found the place he once inhabited bare. Another helpless cry brought her back to the present moment, back to Charlotte’s lifeless body beneath the shelter of an oak tree and to Evelyn’s wild wails. All she could do was stare at the couple, before her eyes caught the form standing at the trunk of the tree. Elsie stood solemnly in front of the grave, staring down at what was the final resting place of the governess.  Moira took a tense breath and the icy, fresh air seemed to enliven her. With each passing moment, a heaviness sunk deeper and deeper into her heart. </span><span><br/></span> <span>Eventually, the young ward forced herself to her feet, ambling over to the unearthed dirt. She let herself collapse to her knees, staring up at Elsie just a few paces away. Moira gave a nod of acknowledgement, no longer fearing the prickling in her spine she felt near the specter.  Her hand reached beside her and touched the grave, scooping up a little pile of dirt and letting it fall between the cracks of her fingers. Moira closed her eyes and immediately saw Charlotte’s soft chocolate gaze, warm and welcoming in a way that she’d never witness again. </span><span><br/></span> <span>Death was strange. It felt like nothing and everything all at once. The aftermath of losing someone left a hollowness in the pit of her, like she’d been emptied out by a sieve. Everything felt numb most of the time. Then, she’d find herself clutching her unraveling torso together, wracked in uncontrollable sobs without realizing how or why she got there. Death made her want to tear the walls down and build anew, but instead she sat chained between unfeeling and irrational agony.</span> <span>It had been akin to her mother abandoning her, perhaps taking her own life by drowning in the sea. But, those memories felt so far away it was barely there. She could barely feel the brush of the waves lapping at her toes nor the grief that wracked her at six years old.</span><span><br/></span> <em><span>‘ I wish it had been me instead of you.</span></em><span>’ </span> <span><br/></span> <span>Moira thought for both of the women who left, her opposite hand clutching at her heart. It was hard to believe it was still there. She gulped, forcing away the jumbled emotions brewing within her. Moira was grateful that the tears did not take her this time. Peeling her eyes open, she blinked down at the grave and ground her teeth together. </span><span><br/></span> <span>One distinct sensation remained within her heart, a presence she clung to in order to bury the rest of her grief. Moira clenched her fists, her hands shaking and forearms flexed painfully with the intensity. The fire of her rage bloomed from her center and blossomed up her throat, into her face and arms. Her features turned frigid and pinched while she lost herself to the heat of anger. She didn’t know how to express it, never learned how to let it out. Her whole life had been wrapped around Magnus and anger was not something she was allowed to express. Anger was dangerous, no matter who the owner of the emotion was. When it was Magnus lost in rage, he wielded it like a deadly blade. When she expressed it, it resulted in him backing her into a corner and screaming in her face. It resulted in Charlotte’s bones snapping beneath the weight of his boot.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“I </span><em><span>will </span></em><span>make him atone for his sins.” She ground out, her voice trembling with hatred. The words struck true, but Moira couldn’t rationalize how or when he would fall.</span><span><br/></span> <span>The group remained under the shade of the oak, each one finding not a shed of mercy in the lifeless silence of the Cornish winter day.</span> <span><br/></span><span><br/></span> <span>No one breathed another word till near a half hour later, when Evelyn’s tears were wept and her grief-stricken face was replaced with stony vengeance.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“My nephew has always been unable to manage his anger, but I never once thought he’d be a killer. I bided my time until he was gone, with every intent to bring his lordship to an end and free his ward.” Alice spoke up, an expressionless, far-away stare lingering in her piercing black eyes. Moira tilted her head up at the Lady, blinking at her while she processed what the woman said. The ward swallowed, trying to calm her rage-filled tone before speaking:</span><span><br/></span> <span>“We need your help.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Is that so?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira pulled the oversized frock coat tighter around her, clenching her teeth when the fabric brushed over the open wounds on her back. The filleted flesh stretched excruciatingly as she stood, her legs trembling in threat of collapse. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“ We have a ship to catch.” Moira flicked a determined look at Lady Alice, her jaw tightening. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“We need official contracts of employment, signed and dated by Lord Magnus. We also need a quick passage to Falmouth.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>Lady Alice scoffed and crossed her arms, giving Moira an incredulous sneer:</span><span><br/></span> <span>“You’re either stupid or mad to think I’d do anything for you.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Do you not understand the meaning of the word </span><em><span>hostage</span></em><span>, you daft ninny?” Evelyn seethed, turning her head from Thomas’ shoulder to shoot an incandescent glare at Alice.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Ah, the snot-nosed imp speaks again! God be bloody praised, I thought we’d sit here forever watching you cry.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Say that again and I’ll pull your innards out your arse!”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Lady Alice graced the brunette with a smarmy grin, raising one brow in a challenging manner. Evelyn made to get up with a glint of violence in her eyes, but Thomas pulled her against him, shushing her quietly. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“As much as I’d like t’ see you pull the pompous wench inside out, ye need t’ settle.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>Evelyn sent a sharp flick of her eyes at Thomas and extracted herself from his arms, instead moving closer to her mother’s grave. Thomas leaned on his hands and sighed, his jaw working when he glanced at the mound of earth again.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“You cannot honestly tell me you stood here with us just to explain yourself and part ways. I can offer you something.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira’s words drew the attention of Lady Alice once more, her brow raising ever higher in her scrutiny. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Offer something? What, are you going to try not to bleed on me?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>This woman was maddening, a completely different Magnus demon apart from Walter. He could kill with his hands and brute strength. Lady Alice could send someone into insanity with her words alone. </span><em><span>‘Swallow down the rage. Don’t let it out.’</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <span>“Tell me, Alice, what would you give to find Oliver Magnus?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira knew it was a stretch to rope in the child, unsure whether Lady Alice would truly care enough about the boy to want to know his whereabouts. However, the shift in the woman’s demeanor told Moira everything; she had her in the palm of her hand. Alice lifted her chin, eyes narrowed in suspicion.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“How?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Magnus never got rid of anything. Some of Elsie’s and Oliver’s belongings still sit in this house. I believe we can find a trail leading to the boy. I’d search the world for him if it meant you’d help us.”</span> <span><br/></span> <span>“How can you ensure his return?” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“I can’t. But I can ensure closure.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Alice seemed to weigh the options in her mind, her gaze flitting toward the oak tree. Moira watched as the phantom of Magnus’ late wife snapped her head toward the Lady, eliciting a shiver from the woman who could not see her presence. Alice’s thin brows knit together and she returned her gaze to Moira, a grimace pulling down the edges of her silver-tongued mouth. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Why would you go to such lengths for the boy?” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“I said we need your help.” Moira started, biting her lip and looking away in her next admittance: “And I feel rather attached to him. Elsie would want him found.”  </span><span><br/></span> <span>Attached wasn’t quite the word for it. Moira felt an irrevocable draw to the boy, not only for their similarities but out of a self-designated duty to fulfill Elsie’s final wish. It was not her fault that the family had been torn asunder, but it seemed she would be the only one with the freedom to make amends for at least the most innocent of the victims.</span><span><br/></span> <em><span>‘Freedom. I never thought I would say that word and believe I truly had it.’</span></em> <span><br/></span> <span>When Moira’s emerald orbs turned to Alice again, she saw that the Lady’s eyes softened and her arms dropped to her sides. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Find solid proof and I’ll help you. I wouldn’t do a thing based on a whim of a naive girl.” </span> <span><br/></span> <span>Moira nodded curtly before turning to Thomas and Evelyn.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Give me the gun.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“What?” Lady Alice hissed, her voice taking a shrill, aggrieved tone.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“I’ll still be helping you, miss, but I’ve learned that words are not to be trusted. No matter how pretty they sound. You’ll do what we need and you’ll help me find a trace of Oliver, and then I </span><em><span>won’t</span></em><span> put a bullet in your head.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Both Thomas and Evelyn looked clearly shell-shocked, although a satisfied sneer pulled at Evelyn’s mouth. She flicked her dark brown orbs to Thomas, who let out a sigh and pulled the gun from the back of his trousers. Evelyn unhooked the ammo satchel from her waist and tossed it to Moira, who caught it before it tumbled to the ground. Thomas sent Evelyn a scornful glare and stood, flipping the gun easily so the handgrip was within reach. Moira snatched it quickly and loaded the flintlock with the help of Thomas, shaking and fumbling with inexperience. </span> <span>“I suggest we begin in his study.”</span> <span><br/></span> <span>Moira motioned toward the manor with her pistol hand and Lady Alice lifted her hands, stepping back when the muzzle fixed right on her.</span> <span><br/></span> <span>The two women left Evelyn and Thomas by Charlotte’s grave, giving the two a chance to grieve in privacy. Moira hobbled after Lady Alice, fighting off the blurring edges of her vision and the distinct trembling in her legs. Her marred flesh screamed against every jostle of her step, the pain nearly buckling her knees. Her heart and body felt as if it was torn to shreds, but no tears would come forth. Instead, Moira kept one arm wound over her waist, hoping that she could hold herself together long enough to finish the tasks they had at hand. God be damned if she were to stay another moment longer at the manor than she needed to. Moira would leave this wretched place, even if it meant killing to get away. Her eyes were trained on the back of Lady Alice’s head, who was several strides ahead of her. </span> <span><br/></span> <span>“Come along girl, I want this matter to be done with as much as you.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira clenched her teeth and pushed herself to move faster, contemptuous, narrowed orbs piercing through the back of Lady Alice’s skull. If the Lady so much as hinted at deceit, Moira wouldn’t hesitate.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span> <span>The study was the messiest it had ever been in all Moira’s years of staying in Magnus Manor. Empty fifths of whiskey and papers lay scattered on the mahogany desk and the rug-adorned floor. The hearth was cold and stained with soot, as if Magnus left the fire blazing and dirty during his time in there. Moira lifted a half empty bottle of whiskey from the desk and swilled the drink around at the bottom. Lady Alice watched in complete horror as Moira tested a swig and then downed the remainder of the spirit in a few gulps.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“What kind of soused strumpet did he take in?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Evidently the wrong one. Now, if you please.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>The sharp, bitter tinge of alcohol did a hellish number on her throat, but Moira wouldn’t have it any other way. Moira motioned her gun toward the seat across from the desk, indicating for Alice to sit. With a miffed huff, the Lady settled onto the wooden chair, while Moira ambled to the velvet chair at the head of the desk. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“I thought we had a list of things to accomplish.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>Alice glowered at Moira, her arms crossed while she leaned against the back of the seat. The ward had to bite back a smirk, watching Alice completely powerless but equally as defiant reminded her much of a chided child.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“We do.” Moira said evenly, swallowing the sore lump in her throat.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“So why are we sitting then?” Lady Alice gritted her teeth in frustration.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“What is the purpose of the locked room?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Do we really need to be wasting our time on this?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira pulled the hammer back and pointed it at Lady Alice again. A small smirk came over Alice’s face, a jarring display in the face of mortal threat. </span> <span><br/></span> <span>“You don’t know how to hold a gun, do you?” </span> <span><br/></span> <span>The ward blinked, a frown pulling at her mouth. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Shoot me, child. You’ll break your wrist and miss your mark all in one go with the way you’re holding it.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira sighed, feeling heat crawl to her cheeks and trying her damndest to force it away. With a frustrated huff, she put the gun on the desk gently, keeping her hand on it in case Lady Alice did something rash. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Just answer the question.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“That room up there was- well- it was where Walter was sent as a child when he behaved badly.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira stiffened at his name, her brow creasing in distaste and anger. That name, it tasted sour on her tongue without her breathing a single syllable. She rolled her shoulders back, using the stinging welts and bruises as a distraction from her emotional state.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Behaved badly?” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“He was always getting into trouble with his father. He was an odd sort. Quiet, but somehow always had his grubby hands in everything they shouldn’t be.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“He likes to possess things.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“I guess you could call it possessiveness. I merely saw it as curiosity when I stayed with them. My brother thought otherwise and discouraged such behavior vehemently.” </span> <span><br/></span> <span>The dark-haired ward nodded, her eyes caught in a deadpan stare on Lady Alice. The cogs of her mind began to turn, slowly putting together the missing pieces in each tidbit of information she picked up on. </span><em><span>Possessive. </span></em><span>He had a knack for taking what wasn’t his from a very young age.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Can you tell me more about him and his father?”</span> <span><br/></span> <span>“Why are you so keen on prying now?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“I’m just trying to understand.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>Lady Alice fixed her with a long, hard look. It seemed like she was taking in every detail of Moira, analyzing her with such a piercing stare that Moira fought not to shrink into her seat. Her fixed gaze reminded her briefly of a certain map-charter she had a business arrangement with. ‘</span><em><span>Hector Barbossa, that manipulative, intelligent bastard.’ </span></em><span>Why couldn’t she bring herself to be scared of him after he held a gun to her head and alluded to wanting her, if nothing more than as a piece of flesh to warm his bed? </span><em><span>‘Because I’m still an eighteen year old idiot.’</span></em><span><br/></span> <span>“My brother was a very effective Lord. St. Ives was well protected by him, so much so that it gave the town an opportunity to expand into what we see today. He was not so effective as a family man. He only wanted a child in order to continue his lineage and to keep lordship in the family. But, he was weak. Women love money and status, especially the peculiars you’d see roaming the streets at night. He’d take to the pleasure houses and seedier parts of town quite often. When young Walter caught wind of that, he began stealing little things from his father. Important papers, books cataloguing his business endeavors, even simple things like quills and blank parchment. He just kept plucking away at what he could, even though the child had no idea what a pleasure house really was. My brother accounted for most everything, as organized as he was, so he always knew when Walter took from him.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira glanced around the room, looking at the scattered papers and whiskey bottles littering what was once pristinely organized.  The parallels between Magnus and his predecessor were distinct, each of them having a knack for organization and a possessive devil in their nature. She sat back and wondered if this room looked so out of sorts when his father held the title. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“That couldn’t have come to any good.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Of course not. It all came to a head when Katherine wound up heavy with child a second time ‘round. He was hardly at home by then, even less so when it got closer and closer to delivery. His wife didn’t make it, the child was born already dead and she took her mother with her. After that, the home grew bleak, very bleak. I ended up marrying and finding my own home in Falmouth. From that point on, I scarcely heard from my brother nor my nephew.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira found herself confused by her own emotional range. She chewed on her lip, brows still knit tightly together while she mulled over all Alice said. Just a few days ago, Walter’s hardened exterior slipped minutely at the dinner table. </span><em><span>Beard-splitting cad </span></em><span>is what he called his father. In other words, a man who spent his time with prostitutes. For a moment, the seed of empathy for Magnus burrowed into her chest. The man had grown up hard, clinging to the love of a mother who would not see him through till adulthood. Then, she heard the sickening squelch of Magnus’ blade sliding into Charlotte’s abdomen. The face of a blonde, breath-starved woman who he claimed to love beneath his grasp etched its way into her mind. Finally, her own pain bloomed into recognition, the memories of what he’d done to her whittling away at her brain. Moira pushed away her empathy, squeezing her jaw tight at the harsh reality. He did not deserve her compassion. He was a murderer who took what never belonged to him. Given what she knew now, she realized:</span> <span><br/></span> <span>“History repeats itself.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira pushed any other questions from her mind, instead focusing on the tasks that would bring the trio to salvation. Her desire to learn more and analyze the vile man she spent a little over a decade with would not distract her any longer. The two had cleaned the majority of the study, just enough to clear space for Alice to write out the contracts of employment. Moira kept the gun tucked into the frock coat’s pocket.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Have you done this before?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“I used to help my father with the simpler documents. With a copy of Walter’s signature, it should look official enough.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira filed through the papers strewn about, searching for the name of a man she could not wait to forget. </span><em><span>Hatred, </span></em><span>a word she nearly never used started its very own tune in her mind. With each turn of a page, Moira thought about how much she wanted to wrap her fingers around his throat. She wanted to make him taste the fire that threatened to burn her from the inside out. She wanted to hurt him for destroying her. Her throat clenched painfully and familiar tingles crawled up her face when Moira spotted his signature. </span><span><br/></span> <em><span>Lord Walter Magnus The Fifth.</span></em> <em><span><br/></span></em> <span>Moira decided </span><em><span>Devil </span></em><span>would be a better title for him. She slipped the edge of the parchment into her fingers and held it out for Alice like it was some disgusting rag. A soft hiss escaped her as she moved, her back setting aflame from the simple movement. Lady Alice blinked up from where she was writing out the beginnings of the first contract and snatched the paper up, giving Moira a strange, indiscernible look. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“What’s this contract for?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Employment on the ship called the </span><em><span>H.M.S Serpentine</span></em><span>. Thomas and Evelyn will start as deckhands. The map charter wants me to be his apprentice.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Lady Alice narrowed her eyes on Moira, before mumbling:</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Isn’t the captain of this ship one of Walter’s men?” </span><span><br/></span> <span>‘</span><em><span>That wretched name again.’</span></em><span> Moira shivered and grimaced, nodding curtly in response. She watched as the Lady began writing, saw how she bit her lip in concentration as she connected the dots. Once she neared the end of the contract, she turned her shark-like gaze back to Moira and asked:</span><span><br/></span> <span>“What shall I name you then?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira didn’t even hesitate.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Oliver Ward.” </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span> <span>Lady Alice made quick work of the next two contracts, leaving Thomas’ name the same and pausing only to ask for help on Evelyn’s new alias. They both decided on the name: Rigel Blackwood. Her last name would not hold much merit to anyone, it was common enough in the European countries. She stacked the papers neatly after the ink dried and handed them to Moira. Moira folded them and tucked them away, retrieving her gun in the process. </span> <span><br/></span> <span>“I really thought we were past this. You don’t know how to shoot.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“We are.” Moira muttered, setting the ammo pack down on the desk. She pulled her elbow in at the waist and fired off the gun with a grunt. The bullet pierced the trimming of the door way, splintering off chunks of wood. She hadn’t thought much of it, other than to create some form of small wreckage in this hellhole of a manor and disarm the pistol at the same time. Lady Alice ducked, both hands flying over her head until she realized what happened. </span> <span><br/></span> <span>“Are you insane!?”</span> <span><br/></span> <span>“I hope so. It’d explain why I feel so strange.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Moira weighed the gun in her hand, catching a whiff of freshly burnt gunpowder. She liked the feel of the slick metal and smooth handle, even though she had no idea how to use any of it properly. Moira was quite certain even holding it the way she did that time around was wrong, unless her wrist was supposed to feel like it was about to fly off when she fired. She pocketed the pistol and returned her gaze to Lady Alice, who was merely shaking her head and trying to strangle the small laugh that was setting her mouth aquiver. Moira fashioned her own half-hearted smile:</span><span><br/></span> <span>“We have snooping to do.” </span><span></span><br/></p>
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